slip into the night
by victimoffiction
Summary: The year is 1871 in Paris and a breathtaking fortress, the Opera Populaire, stood ingrained with a dooming love that echoed through each hollow on that one fateful night. Don Juan had played its last notes and the choices had been made. But, does it truly end there? Danger still lurks behind every corner. Will update chapters every other week, if not sooner! E/C
1. Chapter 1

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

Looking down, even in the dark I could see my hands shaking. How could they still be shaking? I stared hesitantly at my face in the small, bronze mirror on my dressing room table and was met with the sad gaze of a stranger. Her eyes were ringed red and her skin a ghostly pallor. My battered reflection looked small and frightened, as much as it did when I first came to live at this haunting opera house as an orphan. My cheeks were stained with tears, the glistening paths serving as an embellished reminder as to why I was in here and every moment that had preceded. Raoul was waiting for me on the streets behind the building with a carriage, a coachman prepared to aid us on our flight. A hungry mob had already formed to seek out the phantom while we were in the lair, clad with torches and rifles to end his reign. There'd be too many questions if I were to be seen making this escape. Most of Paris had already seen him whisk me down to the cellars during the finale of his opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. Those questions… I was not sure I'd ever be able to answer them, for I did not know the answers myself. _Focus, Christine._ I had to pack up the bare minimum of my necessities and then sneak out through the back corridors that sprouted from the hall of my dressing room. Raoul had found us a room at an inn to take refuge in until we could go to the country to be wed, starting our lives together away from the drama inlaid here in Paris. Somewhere very far away… Another tear slipped without permission and I cursed myself silently for being so weak. As the air in the room grew colder with night's chill, I wrapped a warm, velvet cloak around my hunched shoulders and grabbed my bags. Meg would surely send the rest of my things to me after we had settled— unless, of course, Raoul deemed it unsafe to share our whereabouts. With an uneasiness at the thought, I blew out the candles and watched light drain out of the room, but not before I snuck a glimpse at the floor-length mirror I had been so desperately averting my eyes from. Even in the dark, the stripe of light from the door's outline threw a slash of reflecting white on the smooth surface, gluing my eyes to the spot. Almost unhealthily I had been swallowing down every thought that came into my head from tonight's events, banishing them to the deepest part of my mind. Without that minute control, I knew I would break down completely. An ache spread through my chest as I stood in the dark; I closed my eyes and took a shaky intake of breath, bunching the fabric of my cloak in my clenched fingers. My soul was being tugged at like a string, every ounce of me longing to step through that glass door. I snapped out of the daze at the sound of howling hysteria and pounding footsteps up and down the halls, urging myself to stop my madness and leave the room with no glance back. I grabbed the edge of a chair upon my exit, my touch meeting the smooth, satin surface of my discarded wedding dress. I dropped the fabric and rushed to the brass doorknob, feeling on the brink of hysterics. Once I crossed the threshold into the lighted hall full of frenzy and color, I pretended to forget all that had happened more and more with each step I took— to forget that he would be _right_ down those halls, only a short way away. I wanted to forget how his pleading cries for me to leave and forget him had pierced my heart, while his eyes had begged me to stay, to show him that love existed. It worked for the instant, but I very well knew I'd have to face those memories far too soon.

It seemed as if the Opera Populaire itself was alive and breathing with fear and havoc. Girls ran by me, hopelessly distraught as they picked up the skirts to the costumes of a forgotten opera. Men stalked by, leaning towards each other in a sense of shared blood-lust over hushed strategies for their attack. No one would notice me slip by with my hood up, though my heart raced along with every echo and scuff of my hurried steps. For all they knew, I was meeting a tragic end in the "monster's" chamber.

"I think I saw an entrance to his labyrinth near the stage props!"

"Is it true he captured Christine Daae?!"

"Why aren't we storming the cellars!"

"My dear Piangi, oh my love. Get him, you lowly fools!"

The crowds rushed by me in mobs, frantically speaking. I, on the other hand, was so lost in my own worried thoughts that I would've made wrong turns if I hadn't known the opera house like the back of my hand. The sound of revolvers clicking into place, a sword ripping out of its sheath, the roar of blue flames… _No, _I thought. _Don't think about him._ _Don't worry about him. He's a murderer. _My concurrent thoughts, polar opposite, drowned out my weak loathing. _No one deserves to die, nor do you want him to. You still feel his lips on yours, you know what you felt as Raoul steered the boat away. _I wanted to scream. This can't happen now; these are supposed to stay buried. _You know what you felt._

I was in the deeper part of the corridors now, the crowd's noise only a distant and garbled sound, as if coming from underwater. I had calmed slightly, pretending as if I, myself, by leaving the heart of the panic, had escaped from my own harrowing tale… as if all of this had happened to some other unfortunate soul. How else was I supposed to continue on? I took the silent moment to think. _He let me go. _I knew I did not want Erik dead, just as I had not wanted that fate for Raoul. Erik, even cloaked by lies as my Angel, had helped me cope through much of my despair growing up. He had been my sole confidant in life and had taught me of the world. His fantastical stories would transport me far away from the monotonous routines of my everyday life at the theater. They surely wouldn't kill that Erik if they knew him. _Do I truly know him?_

The cold, wet stone of the back halls were all I saw as I made my trek, moonlight bleeding through cracks in the stone. I walked for a while, turning in all the places where I had scratched the stone wall a bit to mark the way. I walked on numbly, blissfully ignorant to my emotions. The charade ended as quickly as it came as a familiar sensation overtook me. Goosebumps ran down my back, slowing me to a halt as I heard the most haunting melody from somewhere far below me. How could I hear it so clearly? I closed my eyes instantly and breathed heavily. The music penetrated the floors, encompassing me in its beauty. Never have I heard more emotion in a song than this… more life in an instrument. It felt as if I had been stabbed with ice, yet made my heart ache with pleasure in its unnerving effect. Erik composed stories and emotions unlike the known musicians of the time who created predictable melodies for their elite entertainment. I heard his reaction to me pulling off his mask, his conflicting emotions as he took me down through the tunnels to his home, those conflicting emotions when I kissed him, and finally his anguishing thoughts as I left with Raoul… the notes spoke the words of his mind. I dropped my bag and slid to the ground, ignoring the ripping of my cloak as stone scraped my back. I fell into tears. My sobs seemed to dance with the rise and fall of the notes. _What have I done? _It felt like my soul was trying to escape me. The music beckoned me as an ocean's current pulls you in. After what felt like hours, his music slowed and calmed, and so did I. I wiped my face and braced the floor with my hands while focusing on composure. _Raoul._ I had completely lost thought of him. How long have I been sitting here? A minute? ...An hour? I stood up and brushed the damp gravel off of my hands, thinking of every trick possible to get his music and despair out of my head; crazy little rhymes and even the haunting stories from the north that my father used to tell me as a child. If I didn't block it out, I knew I would never leave.

Slipping through a broken storm gate at the end of the hall, an entrance Meg and I had discovered as children, I was met with a cold blast of Paris air and a questioning look from Raoul as he tensely leaned against the carriage. With a confused look and wary smile at my disheveled state he offered me his warm hand and helped me up the wooden steps of the carriage car, the driver practically pulling my bags from my unmoving grasp. The rough stone of the corridors had been more comfortable than these plush velvet seats, my every thought defiant towards leaving my home. But, I knew it was our only option. I felt Raoul's green eyes staring at me. Were they angry? I wouldn't know, for my eyes were watching the opera house slip away as heavy snow cut the scene into shattering pieces.

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

My fingers grazed over the ivory of the piano and the worn parchment of my music. Meaningless. It was nothing but scales and empty melodies written by a madman. I pushed the papers off of the golden music stand in disgust, now enraptured by the flames of the candles nearest to me. I needed a new distraction. Though fleeting, they numbed my mind while I waited for death to take me. I could hear the men, growing louder and closer; not all would fall to my traps. The flames danced a duet with the wind, flickering their brilliant colors of blue and orange and gold, mesmerizing in a way that begged you to reach for them, to join the flame in its dance of beauty. _Beauty._ Oh, the cleverness of that flame, for it will only burn you with an incessant laugh. What's another scar? I immediately flinched back and ran down to plunge my screaming hand into the lake that bordered my home. My "lair." Hell is the only home for my damned soul.

I walked to a Persian armchair facing out onto the lake, staring at my right hand. It was only pink from the heat; I didn't hold it long enough to do permanent damage. I sat numbly in thought, mindlessly twirling her ring through my fingers. My grieving had ceased for the night, for this feeling of wretched loneliness had become so habitual it was almost as if it calmed me. _Almost._ Music had consoled me the most, as it always has. I gave my soul to the instrument, not even sure where my fingers would go next, producing a melody that was as new to me as it was to the stale, cold air encompassing my body. I must behold a vindictive curse, for everything I touch turns to ash, disintegrating through my fingers while I stand motionless. The flame was like Christine, I realized bitterly. She diverted me from my depressing life, her voice giving me life; she drew me in with her painful beauty like a siren lures its pitiful prey; but, when _she_ burned me, there was no water to extinguish that pain, that betrayal. I idly touched my lips with the tips of my fingers, gently so as to not rub off the memory. There was nothing to extinguish that pleasure. The kiss was rather light and forced, for she knew she had to spend her life with me or watch her lover come to a painful end. …But, then she kissed me again. I curled my lip and drew my brows together, playing with the cuff links on my jacket. That time it was passionately deep. I had finally found the ability to touch her and reciprocate a response while led by desires command. When she pulled away it was as if we were the only two people there... the only two people to exist in the world. Her drowsy eyes had searched my face— my deformed face. For a moment, just one sweet and transient moment, I had felt whole. My bitter soul had unclenched its jealous grasp on my heart, allowing me to revel in the pure sweetness of her martyring deed. I felt _loved…_ something I had never felt before. Not even my own mother could stand my presence. I had perceived Christine's slow walk towards me a mere trick of the eye, for only minutes before she had spit her hatred at me, the words still ringing in my ears. The genuineness was far from likely, the thought only toying with my willing mind. I had realized it must have been a show, the last performance I'd see of her. I could never make her stay, no matter what small hope she had given me in her love. What kind of life would she have with me? She was meant to soar above the world, her ethereal talent promising a wonderful life for her. I had no right to claim her as I so painstakingly tried. She was a child of the light while I recoiled from it, loving her from the shadows. _Oh Christine._ I had to let her go. I could live ten lives and never deserve her, she who chose the monster to spare the beauty. I paused and thought in strange awe; the thought of her choosing me at all had never even brushed my mind. The boy had been pleading for her not to the entire time he lay prey in my noose. That noose— it may have been his neck it encompassed, but I was dying, suffocating in the bleakness and futility of my own self-constructed ruins.

Why had she not listened to him? In my sick mind, twisted from madness, I was prepared to kill Raoul the minute I heard words leave her lips. _What have I made of myself?_ I do not murder. I've never harmed anyone at the opera. I merely became the phantom for my own amusement of the mystery it beheld, allowing me to use my cunning talents at whim. What better façade to have when you were already forced to hide in shadows, masked by shame? I decided long ago that I would rather have all fear me, not daring to cross me, than to let my heart lay vulnerable to all who walk by the disfigured man, shouting their jests with no panic of counteract. Everything I had worked for crumbled away when the de Chagny boy became the _abundantly_ generous patron of my opera house and fell in love with Christine. He only noticed her when she became a star onstage with her debut of _Hannibal_, for only then was she worthy to be recognized by the _first class_ vicomte. _I _was the one that was always there for her. He filled her head with empty promises and hasty confessions of love and she bought into all of it. But, he was her childhood friend; he would always protect her and love her, he would proclaim with his trusting green-eyed gaze. It snapped my sanity watching her become brainwashed by that slave of fashion, the prized son that had the world handed to him on a gold platter. He became my target, a death-wish painted on his head in my mind with dripping red ink as he stood in the lake, demanding Christine's freedom and rattling the portcullis. At that moment, it had all clicked into place. I deemed him my outlet to take out each and every one of my problems on, ones not even he had control over. I was trapped and desperate, already accepting defeat. _Either way you choose, you cannot win._ That was a lie. Every word I had spoken tonight bled with irony and my own self-hatred. I never meant to give her the impossible decision that I constructed. I was simply playing my own game, one with no victors. How could I be so daft with my methods? I wanted her to see the man beneath the mask and instead I showed her that I was even more horrid on the inside. _It's in your soul that the true distortion lies._ Her words will haunt my days, though I'm sure my hours are numbered by now. My damned soul drove her away.

Breaking off my dismal thoughts, my bitter eulogy, I was sharply aware of how excruciatingly silent it was down here. The silence was deafening, not even the mob's cries reaching my ears. I stood up and began to breathe heavily. Rage boiled in me. Rage towards myself and at the cruel world who rejected me. I grabbed a candlestick off of the ground, ignoring the pain in my hand from the burn, and pulled down the curtains that hid my torturous mirrors. I smashed and smashed, laughing in triumph at the sound of the shards cracking, taking away the sight of my bare face. I didn't feel the glass cutting me. I felt nothing at all.

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

The little room at the inn was quaint and warm, untouched by tonight's events. I, on the other hand, felt like I was suffocating. The sheets of the bed were drowning me as Raoul's anchored arm held me down. His arms were so strong and familiar, yet something felt off. I was not sure whether his tight hold was for protection… or perhaps his own paranoia of me leaving in the night. It was not adoring. The entire carriage ride he had acted strange, tapping his knees anxiously and staring at me accusingly. A worry line had troubled his brow, though now in his sleep, his relaxed face looked as young and handsome as it did when we were just young friends. _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing._ Did he think I regretted my choice to leave Erik behind? _Erik_… the thoughts I had been suppressing with sheer will came crashing down like a roaring wave. I squeezed my eyes tight but the images wouldn't stop. First, a flash of his blue grey eyes darted across my vision, as piercing as knives— the eyes whose stare I could _feel_ as his gaze traveled my body. Those eyes… they held all of the sorrow of the world in their infinite wells. No one should ever feel that little worth. _No._ He killed Buquet and Piangi, I must get him _out_ of my head. My silent pleas were futile for the pictures in my mind continued on their relentless path. His black leather gloves were what came next, the skintight boundary I had wanted gone as he grasped my hand the first time he revealed himself to me, the boundary that I wanted gone as his skilled and deft hands would graze my shoulders, then my arms, and then my waist… _no, no, no!_ These thoughts are not appropriate for a young woman, especially as a vitcomtess to be! …Especially not about him. He controlled my mind, I wasn't myself when I thought of him in those strange states of bliss. I'm never myself. I don't know who I am! Maybe I'm the mad one? My breaths grew rapid and a cold sweat broke on my neck pasting my brown curls in place. I've practically relied on everyone else to decide how I must live my life. Never have I questioned their judgments for I trusted them fully: my father, Madame Giry, Erik, and now Raoul. I have ceased to possess the ability to decide my own life and fate. I'm quite surprised I even came across a decision to the phantom's request just several short hours ago. I will never forget a single detail from this night. Open eyes did not keep the image away, the scene lain out before me like characters on a miniature stage. The lake was luminescent and cold and the golden candles threw shadows on every wall. His whole home was a grey, gold, and deep blood red— the same red as the velvet seats circling the theater. Every rich element lay intact except that now, the euphoric curtain that had once shrouded the depths of this place was ripped open in traitorous tatters to reveal the loneliness, almost tangible. Now my mysterious angel was unmasked and vengeful and I was not here by my own choice. I'm not sure why I exposed him for the whole audience to see during the finale of his erotic _Don Juan_. All I can grasp is that it was not to intentionally harm him. It couldn't have been. I was mere bait on that stage, instructed to use his love for me as an irresistible ploy. Though it was not my idea, I was no less guilty of that raw betrayal. Even so, I played Aminta and I played her very well. The minute I had heard Don Juan's voice, I knew it was not Piangi. It was Erik. His rich voice made me cease acting for he had his own effect on me, one that displaced any thought of trickery. I had forgotten all about my role in the plan, escaping to the place his voice brought me to, the tremendous sound of it freezing me in his arms. After the number ended, he continued the song into a proposal to me as he held me in his gentle grasp. The song was lulling and passionate, sounding as if he was willing every possible emotion into the soft, pure sound. I was so afraid of what I might respond with, the prickling sensation of an open stage invading on the moment, reminding me of where I was and what I was meant to do next. I could feel everyone's eyes like needles on my arms questioning what lay before them. They knew this was no longer a performance. My thoughts warred with each other, desire versus logic and song versus safety. I grabbed his mask and ripped it off of his face, simply because I needed time and a distraction to buy it. I never thought for one single moment of what this impulse might cause or do. His eyes had pleaded with me. Thinking of that look in his eyes… he may have killed before, but I, in that moment, killed him. He had poured his heart out and all I achieved was to put him on show, humiliate him, and betray him.

**I would love to hear your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for your reviews and for taking the time to read this! A reviewer pointed out that Christine does not have much of a backbone yet. I agree and I did that on purpose for you all to see her grow as she learns more about herself as the chapters progress. She always had trouble controlling her own life, but I promise she will get a lot stronger. :) At this point Christine is still at the inn on the night of ****_Don Juan _****surrounded by her thoughts. Keep in mind that those thoughts will still sound very confused and contradicting. Things will speed up! Narratives will turn into dialogue very soon when certain people… meet face to face.**

***Curtain rises***

**.**

**.**

**Christine**

The cool air from the cracked open bay window teased me with its fleeting relief from the humidity in this damned room. The need had grown desperate to step out onto the connected balcony or I felt I would truly go mad. A wave of foreignness had washed over me and Raoul; he was acting as if he had actually _heard_ my contemplations. Though that was silly, how else was I to explain the rigidity of his persona? Numb tiredness settled in my soul, feeling as if I had let every raging, averted thought into my head all at once… the thoughts that I had kept locked away for months now.

I carefully grasped Raoul's caging arm with my thumb and forefinger and moved it to his side gently, so not to wake him. I then slowly inched off my side of the bed, willing myself to be as silent as possible. Once I was free, I padded across the floor until I reached the window, slipping my silk robe over my shoulders as I was greeted with chill. The wooden latch creaked at my touch causing my head to whirl back in guilty hope that Raoul had not woken. I stared at his sleeping figure for a few moments and let out a small sigh, the cold turning my breath visible. This was something I needed to be alone for.

Once on the balcony, I wrapped my robe tighter around my bodice and breathed in the night. I immediately envisioned what it must feel like for him, breathing in this same fresh feel in the dead of twilight, the only time he could come up from captivity. Though the bronze guardrail was bone cold, I kept my hands there for I liked how the chill awakened me... made me feel anything at all. My brown eyes swept the beholding sight before me with a blissful ignorance, watering from the dry wind. The Parisian sky was starless and a golden moon defiantly fought against the ever-swallowing expanse of midnight black. Trees glowed in the foreground, reaching for me with their spindly, twining branches. The lights of Paris blazed as bright as the stars that should have been, orbs of crystalline blue and amber. _Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination..._ I absentmindedly hummed while taking in the glory of the darkness with a child's wide eyes, as if finally _seeing_ it for the first time. Chills ran up my arms as the air crackled with a strange energy in its silence. What only a scarce few knew was that I cherished nights just as much as days, if not more. Nighttime was when magic and mystery danced, where possibilities leapt from the pages of my father's books. Papa only read to me and Raoul at night during the summers in the house by the sea for he argued that only then our souls were truly awake to give the tale a permanent home. It was when the border between reality and fantasy was paper thin, breakable at times. _The cloak of the dark can bend at a story's untamable will_, he would whisper by the glow of the moon, _distorting all of our perceptions_. Raoul and I would shiver at his words as we leaned closer in great anticipation of the next legend of ghouls, or goblins, or ghosts.

A pang of sadness twisted my heart at those simple memories.

_We can become whomever we wish_, papa would read, _for nighttime never judges_.

My thoughts roamed back to the boy in the mask as I tried to imagine his unthinkable childhood. At night he could be one with the world... welcomed in it, even.

That was what he longed for each day, night's warm embrace.

_Though who was I to speak for him? _All of those times he had listened to my cries as my hidden angel… I can't even recall a time that I inquired upon his own emotions.

I chided myself inwardly for being so vain, my heart breaking with the pain over my role in his suffering. Yes, he was guilty of many sins, that much was blatantly obvious. But, I was a far cry from innocent. I broke him. _I _broke him. It might very well have been I holding the Punjab's ropes in my unforgiving grasp. My eyes burned hot with unshed tears and I rubbed them violently, not only to stop the fall of them but also my rush of guilt. The wind whistled past my ears, the sound like a thousand hushed words of blame.

I've known Erik for countless years, and yet they were spent with him under the disguise of a celestial being. Never once had I considered the thought of him being a mortal man. _Only hoped._ Attaining that sacred knowledge had opened many doors to my imaginative thoughts, doors which burst open the night he finally revealed himself to me at that mirror. My mind had beaten against me with raging words of others telling me what is accepted in a lady and what to fear. I've always let those thoughts creep into my mind and control me like a little marionette puppet twisted in strings. Never have I taken the time to untangle the maze of emotions in constant boil for there has always been some sort of mind-bending occurrence looming around every corner I turned to keep me on my toes.

I had begun to dread leaving my bed in the morning for fear of what might happen next, a life in sleep seeming better than one of such altering surprises! Oh, but sleep never did keep the dreams at bay.

How can anyone expect to know themselves after all that has preceded this never-ending day? I remember all too vividly the fact that he has killed and know how indescribably horrid that is; I am far from blind. ...But, maybe I need to hear precisely why he committed the atrocity. The Erik I thought I knew, though highly intimidating, would never intentionally harm someone.

Yes, an explanation would ease my tainted vision of him; I could get an explanation for everything!

It would certainly calm my restless mind. My angel, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, and Erik are all one being in one hopeless tangle of lies and questions. I have no right to pretend that I know all of him. I owe it to the both of us to find out what truly lies beneath his pretenses and hidden personalities. _And what lies beneath mine. _I _need_ to see him one last time, to demand all of the answers he can possibly give. I am quite finished with all of this mystery and damaging hysteria; my own health is being tried at this point. With my growing determination, a drowning weight I could never quite place lifted off of my shoulders like smoke dissipating into nothingness. I laughed in the dark at the simplicity of the solution. It is far overdue for this curtain to fall.

...

I was fairly certain that I did not breathe once or let my paranoid eyes leave Raoul's figure while slipping out of the room until I had breached the threshold of the inn's wooden doors. My swift escape had felt scandalous and that defiant action alone had left me with an unexplainable exhilaration. A small smile tilted my lips as I fastened my cloak while staying within the shadows of the streets. Being a part of the awe-filled sight that I just moments ago admired on the balcony made me feel like I myself leapt from a page in a book, a crucial role in the opera of the darkness. My crazed curls trailed behind me like dark fire in the wind that roared past my ears as I traversed the cobbled streets at my quick pace, unaware of lurking perverse men looking for company or the questioning glares from their female prey. They would never learn whom that strange girl was, running from nothing. My thoughts were narrowed to the slim line of the direct route to the Opera Populaire, my hopes high in becoming that careless girl before every unanswered question and dark mystery had withered her away.

Finally, after what seemed both an eternity and no time at all, I reached the familiar breathtaking building, a fortress of the arts. I stood stricken for a while, wary of what I may encounter. The idea had seemed so easy back at the inn, an answered prayer that would save my soul. Now face-to-face with the rising marble, formidable gargoyles and their warning faces permanent in the stone...

The raging fire had been defeated, the only evidence the last wisps of smoke rising to join the clouds. Despite my hesitation, every thread of the place pulled at me like a determined current.

Raoul seemed so distant, so unreachable; that thought alone left me with a spreading exposed feeling.

I drew my cloak tighter around shivering form, realizing with a start that I had begun moving. The pull was too strong to resist, a part of me aching to feel the envelopment of the walls once more while the other part, only a small cry amongst the trapping urges, wished to create as much distance between myself and all that would soon lay before me.

I walked through the entrance with steady feet and a nervous, thudding heart.

...

This evening seemed to stretch on for miles and it had only just started for me. I stooped under the low arch of the entryway and was welcomed with an unnerving pitch dark and the sound of dripping water. Thankfully, I had brought a candle and matches for I knew how impossible navigating was without them. Striking the match against the wall I lit the wax candle and watched my shadow come alive on the towering stone as the golden glow rose and outlined my looming form. My thoughts turned calmer, their grimness easing as they were replaced by growing clarity. I had come for a reason and that reason would be seen out regardless of any reserve or fear. He had set me free. I was no longer a prisoner.

Now, with my flickering light I could at least _attempt_ to watch out for Erik's precariously laid traps. All was still as I made my winding trek, the only sound the step of my boots. Had the mobs given up? Was this silence the result of their sick triumph? My eyes widened and my pace quickened at the thought.

At last, weary after many wrong turns, I reached the docked gondola and practically tumbled into the water in my haste to board. My skin prickled with both fear and excitement as I neared his home, my emotions as jumbled as ever. The memory of only hours ago hatched in the back of my mind, filling me with unease. _Why did I attempt this?_ It was too late now; I could not return or run away from his anger and sadness like a child. _Past the point of no return. _I laughed without mirth. My breath caught when I broke out of my reverie and noticed I had already reached the shore of his lake leading to full splendor of his sanctuary. I quickly and silently docked the boat, questions swimming in my head while my nervous fingers fumbled over the rope. Looking around, wonder turned to light-headed panic at the sight lain before me. Shards of glass dangerously lay on the rug in front of his broken mirrors and his mahogany violin was smashed into angular pieces; dripping candles were strewn everywhere, their smoke clouding the room in its potent scent; beautiful tapestries were ripped; his music was abandoned, scattered roughly across the floor like leaves.

It was too noiseless.

My previous fear came to life and I ran, searching for him. At that moment I did not care what sins he had committed or what punishment was warranted to the actions. He _always_ protected me as my Angel and I owed him that much. Paying no regard to his hazardous floor, I foolishly let a piece of glass slice through my boot, causing me to stagger. I barely felt it.

The mad search ceased when my dress's garniture rubbed against, and pulled back slightly, a curtain from one of his mirrors and displayed an entryway. I stepped through the empty frame with a look of wonderment. No one would be able to come across this entrance unless they held previous knowledge of its whereabouts. The opening led to a hidden room, plain and barren. I noticed nothing else, for my gaze was glued to a tall figure slumped over on a small wooden bench. His broad back was to me and his stature was slouched, supporting himself by grasping his knees with tense hands. His brown hair reached the cream collar of the billowy linen shirt he wore, half-tucked into his dark brown trousers. I could hear his breaths echoed in the stone room, his shoulders rising and falling in step. My relief of his safety drifted away as I realized how unnatural this was. The cunning Opera Ghost would be on an intruder the moment he heard the boat! And then there was his home in tatters! Warily letting the curtain drop, I walked inside with a dread-filled, silent step.

"Erik…" I called out softly.

His head snapped up but did not look at me. He shook it before again letting it fall.

"Stop tormenting me," he rasped. I froze at the pure anguish.

"She is gone all of it is gone. _Gone_, though I mustn't be dead for I'd never hear that voice in _hell_." I could see him dig his fingers into his knees as he spit out the last words. Tears began to fall down my face; he thought I was only a figment of his imagination summoned to agonize him. I started to walk towards him when he spoke suddenly is his deep and rich voice, gaining composure in alertness to the sudden sound of my echoed step. Broken out of the previous daze, he now _knew_ he wasn't alone.

"My most esteemed audience must finally have made it here to congratulate me on my debut. I, myself, had truly found the finale quite …_ablaze,_ if you will." He chuckled sardonically, switching on his phantom pretense as easily as changing character in a theater performance. The contrast was so abrupt it could give one whiplash. I looked behind me in utter confusion of his address. Did he believe the mob had arrived? I turned back to the curious sight and noticed an empty bottle of rum discarded on the floor by his feet, drained of its alcohol contents. I stiffened in fear, unsure of his temper while inebriated.

He slowly turned his body on the bench to greet his company with intimidation, his hair shielding his view until we were face to face. The transformation of his calculating eyes to that of complete incredulity at the sight of me was so apparent in its sudden vulnerability that it robbed me of breath. Caught in his stare, my eyes traveled the full sight of him from his still disheveled hair, his porcelain white mask, to his partially bare chest covered in… _blood_! I gasped in horror at what my eyes revealed. The front of his shirt was splattered with the deep red, his bare skin sliced as a few small pieces of glass still protruded from his flesh. I ran to him immediately with a cry, carefully grasping his shoulders. His eyes followed me in an entranced daze.

"Erik, what _happened? Who did this to you_?_" _I said in a breath, my eyebrows knitted together tightly. Had they already gotten to him? Not allowing a reply, I demanded he tell me where he kept medical supplies.

"I don't need help." His words came out mumbled and confused, still staring in that unbelieving manner.

**.**

**.**

**Erik**

Torment, agony, and more damnable torment. My mind is my own prison, punishing me for all of the appalling actions I have committed. I stared at the image of her in front of me, confused as to how I could feel its touch. The apparition Christine wore a green cloak over a nightdress, her curls wild and cascading. Her skin was so pale, devoid of imperfections… a china doll, only breakable from my manipulating actions. Her huge eyes pleaded with me; she was trying to say something. I watched her full lips move to form words, though I only grasped the last few asking for medical provisions. I responded unintelligently trying to gain dignity with a dismissal of need for help, though why I needed to dignify myself to a self-induced vision, I wasn't sure. The matter grew less and less important as white blinded my vision, causing the decor of the rug I was now focused on to dance with spots of black until suddenly the images grew quite large and blackness dragged me into its depths.

I vaguely remember the sound of rapid footsteps and a soft yell, my body unable to move on its own. Drifting with a teetering consciousness my next recollection was letting her support me as she led me away from the room, her shoulder underneath my own and her other arm tight around my waist as I stumbled along held by the sheer thread that was her slim figure. I had scant time to question my sanity before darkness again claimed me.

Finally awake and somewhat alert my primary notice was the pain. I felt every piece of glass cutting me again and again like mirrored knives of fire. Each breath I took shifted them, sending a new shock of pain up my spine, turning into a cold sweat that dripped back down in endless clockwork. My eyes burned upon opening from the shock of light. Coming into full focus, I saw an angelic figure sitting on the bed with me. _My Angel sitting on the bed I crafted for her_. _How did I get here?_ At least she felt real, humming while she wrung the cloth full of blood before again tending to my wounds. She was speaking to me as well, too focused on her task to notice my waking.

"When you heal, _I _will be the end of you, you selfish man, foiling my plot with this disruption!" She spoke with her eyebrows furrowed and her face in a scowl though her voice, full of a gentle worry, betrayed her words. She paused and stared at the wounds in examination, wincing.

An overwhelming bout of emotions flooded the depths of my unbelieving soul. She was undeniably no figment of my mind. How could I possibly be so foolish in that notion? If she were, I would not have felt every place on my body that she brought the cloth down on like a shock of warmth to my core, regardless of the pain. Nor, would a hallucinated Christine speak so easily in her infuriating boldness. No illusion or dream could capture her very being, her every detail, the flush on her cheeks, the slenderness of her fingers. Not even I could recreate the perfect shape of her now scowled mouth, or the curve of her neck. She met my eyes through lowered lids, a painful mix of reactions mirrored beneath framing lashes. No, this was very real indeed.

"Christine?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Very sorry for the wait! Life gets in the way of writing and stories this emotionally heavy just simply cannot be rushed. From now on, I will update every other week unless I finish a chapter sooner. In that case, I would post it as soon as it is done! For now, here is chapter three.**

**Christine**

.

.

I wrung out the putrid, blood-soaked cloth once more, having cleaned off his wounds to the best of my abilities. I looked at his now sleeping form, his face so innocently vulnerable in his dreams. There was no scowl or straight set to his jaw; all of his features had softened.

This look... I had never seen it before. It was as if every care or worry had slipped from his mind giving him the appearance of gentle contentment. My heart twisted at the thought of him waking, every tightly wound nerve of him back in place under the weight of the world. Why did I pity him so- this man that was capable of wretched deeds?

Erik's mouth was slightly parted in the slackness of sleep and his arm hung open across the expanse of the velvet mattress. It felt strange watching him, as if I were invading on something rare; something I was not meant to witness.

It was not the stature of a monstrous killer, but of a man. Oh, what cruel things I had spit at him tonight, each word aimed like a rusted dagger at his betrayal. I had such plans for us and yet with each murderous outburst those hopes grew more and more distant until they had left me with a complete bitterness. I snuck a look at him yet again, wanting to remember him as this gentle man, and an ache filled my chest.

How foreign it was to see him in such a simply intimate way, like a future shadow of our lives together had things been different; I, his loving wife, watching him sleep on the brink of a new morning. We would make harmonious music together that day, tell each other tales of fantasy by only light of one flickering candle, and maybe even _I_ would help devise the next hoax on dear Carlotta. Never once would we even give air to the thought of how far below the ground we resided. I could see it so clearly I almost jumped!

The normalcy surprised me, being that I was engaged to Raoul. I shooed away the thought as quickly as it came, though I knew it would linger. Everything lingered.

As the remnants of my musing faded, I was greeted with the throbbing pain of my left foot from the mirror's glass. I had been far too distracted to even notice with all of my worriedness over Erik's injuries. I carefully peeled off my thin boot to examine the damage. It was not deep, just a long scrape that cut through my stocking leaving an angry red smile on the heel. I cleaned it off and wrapped it with a cloth bandage so that it would not become infected. He tossed in his sleep, further tangling himself in the covers.

What restless dreams lay in his maze of a mind?

Slipping my boot back on, only wincing a little at the jolt of pain, I decided to take the liberty to look around. Curiosity bit at my back and urged me to peak before he would wake. _When he would wake… _What a deep hole I had dug myself into what with the pending moment growing closer when I'd most definitely be interrogated by those fearful ocean eyes. For now, though, he was asleep and I must not waste time dawdling on the fact!

...

Under my inquisitive scrutiny, I decided his underground haven was crafted quite conveniently; there was a small bathing chamber just down the steps from the bedroom, and even a kitchen! Well… it had the potential to be a kitchen. Clutter lay strewn over every inch of space, bowls of fruit the only indication of the table's purpose. Beautiful cabinetry, deep mahogany with cream and gold carvings, held loaves of bread and a variety of cheeses and fruit. _The natural chill of the air must keep the food from spoiling._ The sharp aroma was a song to my growling stomach, almost giving me the notion to sneak a piece of the delicious golden bread. _It could wait_, I chided myself. Raoul can have an exquisite meal at the snap of his fingers whereas Erik must have spent hours baking the bread. An abandoned cookbook dusted with flour threatened to fall off the edge of the table, backing my logic further. It was a curious thought to picture him, a man so complex and darkly beguiling, completing an action so trivial and unassuming. _No, it would not be right_.

I sat on a cushioned chair, playing nervously with the edge of an ivory lace tablecloth. _What if Raoul wakes and in my absence believes that Erik took me? _I cannot have him hunted down like a monster for nothing other than my own whim. He was already preyed on enough tonight. _Did those savages cut him and ransack his home? _I scrunched my nose in frustration. Why must my life be so confusing? I knew I must get back to the inn soon, but not before I spoke with Erik and eased my questioning mind… for the sake of everyone. I will never be a good, deserving wife to Raoul if I remain this distant, constantly trapped by my own thoughts and regret. I had lived those three months after _Il Muto_ in a trance, meeting glances with blank stares, forcing smiles to ward off further questioning. I can't go back to that dangerous way of life, barely living. The fringes of that blankness I had practiced so recently were already beginning to beckon me again, welcoming with their promise of cures to my troubles. Distance from others, I had thought, would stop it all for I felt like the vortex to a storm, attracting all kinds of unfortunate events and ruining everything I touched. Every_one_ I touched. No one understood. No one _could._

Raoul had barely pulled me out of that grasp of perilous indifference.

...

I wandered through the open layout of rooms to distract myself, taking in all of the worldly details as I waited for Erik to wake. His home bled with a rich ornateness and wondering mystery regardless of the tattered beating it had endured. Persian throne-styled chairs lay under the golden glow of candelabras while bookcases as tall as the stone ceiling held every fantasy imaginable to my eyes. Leather covers held all of his composed songs and unfinished operas. A true genius, there were so many layers to this man… both fearful and incredible. I thumbed out one mangle of papers, curious of what notes he had scribbled for his works. I read the first few lines, already strangely captured by the raw emotion, while my hair created a curtain around my downturned head.

_Notes on Frederick:_

_Loathes Phillip's character after the ballroom incident. Refer to Scene 2 line 132: _

"_A mere visage of nobility, monsieur, your green eyes are a field of lies leaving your prey trapped in its unwavering expanse!"_

The scripted notes scrawled on, messily construed all over the page speaking of dynamic characters. There was a gypsy named Elise, who captured the attention of Frederick when she stole a beloved ring from Phillip. I sat on a nearby bench, intrigued by the story of misconception and falsity. If only I could find the drafted script amidst all of the clutter! I did find part of Elise's aria, humming its trailing melody softly as I walked on through the vicinity of the rooms. I did not dare enter his own private halls for I would surely never find my way back leaving Erik to wake and think I truly was nothing but a dream!

I reached a wooden desk covered in scattered envelopes and fanciful parchment. I saw the blood red wax that he melted to mold and the brass stamp of death's head to seal it. This must be where the Opera Ghost wrote his threats and demands. I ran my fingertips along the stationary in wonderment. My fingers caught an unsealed envelope with a folded piece of parchment half-enclosed. The paper ran heavy with ebony ink. My finger had merely slipped between the envelope and letter to snatch it out and read it before I stopped myself. I had no business reading his private notes, especially while he was asleep and unaware. I had invaded enough of Erik's personal space what with searching his home and reading his operas. I knew those must be filled with underlying meanings. His works always were.

I had just walked from the desk when a corner of the room caught my eye. Rich oil paints and other mediums lay on shelves, their contents painted on lengths of cloth hanging along the walls in beautiful portraits and landscapes. I stared in awe at the portraits in particular, letting out a gasp. Most were painted in the likeness of me. When I looked at myself in a mirror I saw a girl with a pale complexion, skinny frame, with huge brown eyes and an unruly mane of hair. I was quite plain and ordinary, not foul to look at, yet nothing astonishing. But the way Erik painted me… my cheeks were a golden flush and my mouth a splash of rose. My eyes were brown yet were alive with depth and emotion. Love, loneliness, longing… Everything about the portrait was beautiful and it took my very breath away. _Was this how he saw me? _

A fit of coughing snapped my head to the bedchamber; he was awake. I smoothed the front of my nightdress in a nervous manner, working up the courage to approach him. Courtesy striking me, I grabbed a pitcher of water that I had seen on a shelf earlier and poured a glass. Most of it ended up on the ground from my unsteady hand. I walked over and up the steps to the curtain of the bed and pulled it aside, unsure of every stumbling move.

This was my chance.

He was sitting up and wincing; some wounds had reopened from the force of the coughing. Erik's eyes found mine and he stared, gradually dropping his gaze to the chalice in my hand. He opened and closed his mouth a few times while shaking his head as if dispensing of all trials at words. Guilt seeped in as my presence's effect visibly rose to the surface in a hopeless display. I had given no regard to what he would think of me coming here, especially after everything that happened tonight. What a child I still was, only worried about fulfilling my own selfish desires. He was not a means I could use to ensure an untroubled future. Yes, I was hurt by him… but haven't _I _put him through enough as well? Uncertain of how to begin, I thrust the glass forward.

"I heard you coughing and… and well, I thought you might like some water." I leaned closer until I was within reach. He tilted his head slightly and his hand jerked hesitantly before fully reaching out and gingerly grabbing the glass, blatantly keeping his hand from contact with mine in the manner.

"Thank you," he nodded curtly. I watched him as he brought the glass to his lips, wringing my hands behind my back. His eyes never left mine. After time lazily stretched, he spoke again.

"Why are you here, Christine?" he softly questioned, his eyes incredulous and drowsy from just having left his disoriented slumber. I saw hope flash across them briefly, followed by hurt, and then finally that well of sorrow sinking in its perpetuity and hopelessness. I searched for words… words to calm and explain, words to accuse and injure, any words at all.

I cleared my throat to give strength to my lost voice and stood up straighter. "I came for answers," I announced, annoyed at the lack of defiance in my tone.

"To what questions, may I ask?" Even in his most vulnerable state, the low timbre of his voice gave my attempt at intimidation a near laughable quality.

"What questions?" I gave a quick breath of disbelief. "It would take weeks for you to rid me of every inquiry that bashed through my head since that day you revealed yourself a man."

"Christine…" he uttered out my name as if it pained him to do so.

"I must know," I whispered pleadingly, sitting slightly on the edge of the bed in anticipation. He stiffened at my bold action before looking away in deep thought. He then brought himself up to a higher sitting position, wincing from the pain, as he met my gaze with eyes that saw into my soul.

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

Any lingering thoughts of this encounter being a dream or hallucination from the alcohol were diminished instantly. A dream of her would mock me in its loveliness, leaving me empty when it vanished. All she wanted to hear and uncover… that would be a nightmare that I'd give anything to be woken from. How could I rip my soul open further to the pathetic sadness behind every action, reliving every painful experience? The thought sickened me and I almost turned her down. I had opened my mouth to spit out the words and send her away when the look in her eyes stopped me cold. They held such pain and confusion, huge and bright from forming tears. _I _caused all of this, led by my blackened heart. My chest ached, threatening to rip open from every tormenting sensation her presence provoked.

I had put her through hell during my attempts to win her love, giving into murderous hate and manipulation. I could not deny her any request. She came _here _of all places... here, where the hysterical finale to our story took place only hours ago. I owed her everything I could give. Under her searing gaze and my relentless guilt I succumbed to her wishes. I had nothing left to lose.

I slowly nodded my head towards her hopeful one, "Then you shall know."

**.**

**.**

**I know, I know you want to hear the interrogation session! This chapter is just to tide you over until I add the next one which will be Erik and Christine's tell all delving of secrets. Also, soon you will hear the story from a lot more of Erik's POV. That will hopefully be updated sooner than next Monday because it should've been at the end of this chapter. Just be on the lookout! See you next time… *slams on organ***


	4. Chapter 4

**Tension, awkwardness, anger, confusion, self-hatred, warring emotions— all accounted for. **

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

I was worried of what answers I may come across… of what lies I might uncover. Would they give me further reason to despise him? Or might his words add to my uneasiness over who I left with? That thought… it scared me the most. The unknown made me very afraid, and yet, I knew I must do this. To leave now would disorient me hopelessly further, all of the haunting secrets still there to torment my dreams each and every relentless night.

But, beneath all of the doubt… I felt very _eager_. I might finally reach the winding labyrinths exit; the guiding light at the end of this endless tunnel!

Smoothing my nightdress, I looked at Erik, my eyes drawing to his wounds again. The little pieces of glass I had extracted, they were reflective… the same surface as the glass I cut my foot on by the shattered mirrors. I quickly made the connection, though any explanation seemed absurd. That would be very creatively tortuous for the mob to have broken the mirrors and then raked the pieces across his chest. No, that was a foolish idea. I began, unsure of how to word it.

"Did you cause that?" I pointed to his chest as he let out a long-held deep breath, biding his time as he was uneager to answer. I knew he would be difficult upon coming here, as would I in his place; but, I, myself, could be persistent. After a moment, he responded, with eyes full of a bitter mirth.

"Yes… this was all my doing." He made a sweeping gesture with his right arm to the ruins surrounding him with mock grandeur before dropping it roughly back on the bed. Following his movement, I noticed one of his hands held a faint pink burn.

"But how—"

"I shattered the mirrors after you left," he answered calmly and simply, a threatening singsong quality to his voice. "The shards of glass must have cut me during my rampage. You must forgive me, for I could no longer bare to look at the monstrous beasts in its reflections." He spit out the last words, pushing himself up further with great effort until he was only a foot from my face, close enough for me to feel a faint brush of his warm breath on my ice cold cheek.

I shivered, watching his imposing guise fall away like a stripped veneer as he looked at me closely, his smirk vanishing as his lips parted. His rage-filled eyes softened as they roamed my face, meticulous in a manner as if tracing each feature to memory. His own mask did not lessen any effect of his expression. A foreign feeling drifted through me, _warm _in a way. Time ceased as my thoughts faded, suddenly lacking importance. _Why did he always have this effect on me? How could he still? _

It was there nonetheless, challenging every thought down the course of its shuddering path.

After no time at all he drew his visible eyebrow to the center, softly clearing his throat as he leaned away with eyes of a colder hue. In a weak voice I responded to his rage while pushing him back on the bed gently. It was clear to me that he was not well enough to stand, the last drops of alcohol the only relief numbing the pain.

"I am not afraid of you, Erik."

He laughed in a low tone, "does not my _distorted soul _frighten you, Christine?" I winced and bit my lip, fearful of meeting his stare. _No_, he could not accuse me right now.

"Do not dare turn this on me. Leave me time to explain later, but do not blame me now for all I've said. You have _killed _Erik."

"I'm aware," he stated through gritted teeth.

"Then may I please continue?" He gestured with his hand for me to proceed.

"Why did you pretend to be my Angel of Music for so long? If you had just told me you were a man—"

"What? What would have possibly changed?"

"I just want to know why you kept it from me." I met his gaze levelly, waiting for an answer. I refused to be distracted again.

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

I recognized what I would be getting into when I agreed to delve all of my secrets. Moreover, this did not mean that I would be any more willing. I stared at the pale angel, bent on unleashing hell. It took effort, but I slid my legs over the side of the bed, grunting at the pain from twisting my flesh in the movement. It was most difficult to regain any dignity after a night like this while lying on a bed like a child. The coddling was unfamiliar and unnerved me. Christine followed my movement looking like she was ready to burst from my ignorance of her unspoken order. I was fine. She would never see the scars from my childhood… _Come children, come and see the Devil's Child._ I swallowed the memory down like bile, wanting to keep that story buried.

"I knew your father, Gustave Daae, before you came to live here. When he knew of his progressing illness, he sought me out. Oh, he had heard of the Opera Ghost just like the others. It was Antoinette, Madame Giry to you, who informed him of my true identity."

Christine was drinking in every word, just as she did when I would tell her stories as a younger girl… as her Angel. She would listen calmly, though always with that mystified look that only sheer will, holding her tongue from every question she had wished to interject with, could refrain. How long ago that seemed.

"Your father was worried for your safety at this opera house. Though under Antoinette's care, the _diverse_ populace that lived here was what troubled him. You were such a curious girl, naïve and trusting. He knew of my secret passageways that gave me complete access to the Populaire while staying completely hidden. I was the eyes and ears of this place. He asked me to watch over and protect you once he could no longer."

"That still does not explain why you lied about your identity." Christine crinkled her nose in confusion, visibly trying to understand.

"I never intended to keep up with the ruse for so long. I remember the moment, a few days after he passed… you were kneeling in the chapel, singing and crying out to your father with great torment as you lit a candle in remembrance. It struck me deeply for I am no stranger to loneliness."

Christine reached her hand out towards me on impulse, her fingertips grazing the shirt's fabric over my forearm. She dropped her arm immediately, attempting to tuck her hair behind her ear while she looked away in confusion. I was grateful that she had turned from me for the chill that shocked me from her fleeting touch would surely have been written on my face.

I was being a fool; she was only pitying me. I continued on with my account, the returning feeling of emptiness settling in my core. This mocking night of intertwined pain and pleasure, this carousel of emotions, would haunt me like an inescapable shadow.

"You asked him to send you an Angel of Music, like from the stories he told you as a child. Your voice… I had never heard such pureness before in my life and I knew I must foster it, must help it grow into its full potential. That was when the idea first came to me. I could protect you as your father asked while calming you with the notion that your Angel of Music had finally come to guide you and teach you. I would've done anything to stop your tears. It worked." She opened her mouth to interject, but I was faster. "I never meant for it to continue on as long as it did. There were many times I was going to tell you."

"Why didn't you? Why did you wait so long?"

"Every time I wished to, knowing it was not right to deceive you, I would change my mind at the last moment. I saw how attached you were growing to me, unaware that you were suffering socially from all of the time you spent hidden away in the chapel or dressing room as opposed to being with girls of your own age. Meg's friendship banished that guilt. It was my own selfish desire of your continued companionship along with the fear over what you might do if you discovered my secret that fueled me to keep up the deception. I believed I was only hurting myself, knowing very well that you only wanted me near because of a made-up pretense. I did not care for I would've rather had you with me based on lies than lose you altogether."

I was pacing in front of her staring at the floor, knowing I would cease telling the pathetic explanation if I saw her. The irony of my actions dawned on me and I laughed bitterly, stopping suddenly with a scuff of my boot on stone.

"And I lost you anyways. All of my actions and manipulations to hide my face and win your love drove you away from me… not for fear of my deformity, but of my soul!" My breathing came heavy and I grabbed her shoulders with a sudden futility I could not escape, looking to grasp onto anything as the ground beneath my feet began to crumble.

"God, I drove you away. _I, _the _man. Why are you here,_" I cried out, my voice cracking. "How could you _stand _to be _here _after all I've done_?_"

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. His stare bore me down, so desperate and commanding for an answer, every fleck of green and grey startlingly detailed. I was supporting most of his weight by grabbing his waist to stand, my fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, just as I had onstage when we had met on the bridge as Aminta and Don Juan... My breathing quickened and I froze, the tears in my eyes feeling like ice from the cool air of his breath. Erik loosened his grip on my shoulders and shook his head softly. Those blue eyes went quickly to his hands, looking for a moment before letting them drop, his fingers trailing with their own impulse down my arms until roughly falling to his side.

"Why, Christine?"

I lowered my head as the tears trailed down my neck, absorbing into the collar of my dress, rubbing my arms where chills had formed.

"I don't know," I pleaded to the ground, every word lost on my tongue. "I… I wanted to put all of this to rest. I wanted to settle everything, learn, decide, feel… I don't know! I do not know what you want to hear and I do not know what I wish to reveal. I feel so lost, Erik. No weight was lifted off of my shoulders leaving here and I needed to find out why." I gasped at what I said, not knowing where my nonsensical sputtering came from. I had lost it. It felt like I was falling and I grabbed the bedpost tightly. Erik looked at me as if the sight of me pained him. The expression quickly dissolved into worriedness over my clear exhaustion and then into a shy tentativeness as his eyes moved to the bed.

"You should lie down, Christine. You will become ill without rest. Soon… soon I will see to it that you return home safely. You don't want to worry the Vicomte." The word "Vicomte" came out of his mouth like an impulsive sneer. "How _did _you arrive here, anyways?"

"I came alone. I'm not going back yet and I am not sleeping," I proclaimed like a child, betrayed by my drowsy lids. "I need to know more." He looked at me with withering patience.

"At least sit down; you should not have to stand there like a statue." He gestured to the bed with a short nod. I agreed after a few moments, the soft velvet tempting my tired bones. I sat back on the bed, sliding the covers up to my hip with my head resting on the bronze board behind my back. The sheets were still warm from his previous presence.

The enveloping softness of the bed and the dim lighting of the room served as an exact replica of the first night I woke here, throwing me into a fatigue-filled haze. Maybe no time had passed between the night of _Hannibal_ and now, all of the proceeding events a simple nightmare I had merely dreamt.

But, fate was not kind. I could wish a lie as sweet as that to be real with every ounce of my being and I would still be left so poorly disappointed.

Lives were still cut short, people were still betrayed.

Erik stood at the side of the bed looking quite uncomfortable. How was he supposed to act in this most unusual circumstance? My visit was uncalled for, an idea not even I had predicted. Oh, I had felt such loathing for him tonight as he held Raoul's life in his hands. He couldn't _see _me. He was almost blind to what he was doing, the nail he was driving between us. I never imagined I would come back here... and, yet, here I was, sitting right on his bed.

Every one of my decisions was impulsive, affecting everyone... Raoul, Erik, myself. How I wished my father were still alive; he would know what to do!

A cloud of tension, tangible and ever-spreading, hung in the room and I searched for ways to ease it. Coming up short, I simply motioned for him to sit in a quite awkward manner, my hand patting the part of the mattress close by my feet. I was answered with an utterly confused twist of his features.

"Well, I cannot sit here on _your _bed while you stand there. I believe we're past formalities, don't you agree?" Erik's eyes widened a fraction, the twin waters darkening, but he eventually sat on the edge, resting his arms on his legs in a rigid stature. After a moment of heavy silence, he spoke.

"_I believe _that it may now be my turn to ask questions."

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

Christine looked at me for a moment with an expression I could not decipher. Was it dread? She opened her pink lips to speak before closing them abruptly and nodding, her brown curls bouncing. It was throwing to see her so naturally on the bed… _her_ bed, though hell would freeze before she knew that.

_Though didn't it already? _Surely, hell wouldn't have even dreamed of her presence.

I already resided in its depths, though it must not have froze... it couldn't have. The untouchable warmth was back, that always shocking, tingling of nerves that teased me in her presence... in its normalcy. The bed rose back into my view, its blind hopefulness grasping at her every curve.

I had built that bed for her before I ruined it all, madly preparing in hopes that one day she would finally see the good in me.

Ah, it was there... only buried by every damning sin.

Her finger, bare without the ring, and her constant wary expression wiped away any shadows of the warm future I used to dream of. I got up quickly and pulled an armchair out from the corner, swinging it to face her before sitting down again. The question practically burst off of my tongue.

"The morning after Hannibal… why did you take off my mask?"

"I… well, I was curious. All of the tales I had heard about what was underneath- well, I knew they must be exaggerated but I still wanted to see you—all of you. After that dreaming night of music that bore your soul to me I did not want something as trivial as that mask to conceal you further." She was staring into the distance, a flash of a lazy smile momentarily lighting up her shadowed features from the memory.

_She had found beauty in my soul that awaited night; I had seen its wonderful glow in her eyes, filling me with a welcome foreignness._

"You speak so nonchalantly, as if the mask weren't purposefully hiding a hideous deformity. Do you not remember retreating back in that bone chilling fear?" Her eyes, those wide brown eyes as she held my mask in her quivering hand…

_But, that false beauty had not been enough to dilute the sight of my repulsive face, no matter how hard I wished it._

"I was not frightened by your face! I was afraid of you," Christine yelled in counter, grabbing at the sheets with her slim hands in frustration. I froze at her intensity. "You screamed at me with rage, pushing me down as you covered your face and cursed me with those unthinkable curses! Can you truly blame me for backing away? It was as if you had left and the phantom from the rumors of the opera house had taken your place."

The amount of self-hatred I felt now was unbearable, creeping in my bones like a thief in the night. One could never reverse the past. I had murdered my chances along with her innocence, lashed out at her unrightfully, wiped away what little loveable qualities she might have seen in me, and drove her into that boy's arms. _Everything I touch turns to ash… _my former thoughts mocked me, laughing at my downfall.

I once read in a book that I had stumbled upon that everyone held a purpose in life, each seemingly infinite turn in the road, each action, ultimately leading to a great happiness. _What was mine? Why did _I _exist? _I was a fool for holding onto the hope of finding that path, pretending that the passageways of the opera house would lead me somewhere as I wandered aimlessly— somewhere where I had a chance in life, unrestrained by my deformity… loved. But, each tunnel was as dark and damp as the previous.

I clenched my fists tightly, assessing the whites of my knuckles as I felt myself nearly drawing blood from my palms. Incredible weight swelled in me, dragging me down and making every thought an effort. Christine being here only worsened the feeling, her retreat with Raoul playing over and over in my head. Her innocent eyes knew not what her presence mocked me with, smothering her choice in my face. She was there but untouchable... not mine. Not _ever _mine. A ghost she was, punishing me for my worthlessness and spite. I had become that monster - exactly who the stagehands whispered of.

"And what if I am and always was that man, the phantom?"

She pondered that before answering, "You weren't… aren't. You forget that I used to spend every moment I could sneak with you. Though I thought you to be some untouchable being, I knew you. You were kind and gentle, a genius teacher whose protection I could _feel!_ It is impossible for me to believe that your entire nature was a charade as well." I stared dumbfounded, ambushed by her innocent reply. How could she find the strength to vouch for my character at all, holding so desperately on to her only scraps of evidence? Even as her Angel I was controlling and selfish. She should be gone by now.

_She should have never come. _

Christine continued on, taking my silence as acknowledgment towards her insight.

"What made you change your mind about revealing yourself to me?"

I sighed jaggedly, realizing that she was far from done with her inquiries. I met her eyes and curled my lip, looking for words that would be less pitiful. I found none.

"I had just left the rose on your dressing room table and upon exiting through the tunnels I heard the ever rambunctious Andre and Firmin bubbling over with success along with the accompaniment of your boy. He was looking for you to spend a moment alone." Christine listened intently, intrigued to hear the story she knew from a different viewpoint. "I followed him back to the room, watching from behind the mirror as you two shared breathless recounts of the summers you spent together. I felt I was losing you, this suitor acting as if he had already won your heart as he prepared to whisk you away. I was desperate as time slipped, knowing you could never love me without knowing I was a man."

My voice was void of the true emotion I longed to express. How trapped I had felt that night, wanting to bang on the glass, wanting her to _see _me. Raoul had been beaming, playing along with her whim as she spoke of her Angel of Music. She had smiled up at his beauty… beauty I did not possess. I had felt as if I were back at the carnival, though as opposed to the onlookers, bound by their money to watch the wretchedness that was the devil's child, I was forced to only watch with horror which_ I_ could not escape from the walls that bound me. I could not interfere or prevent, only _watch._

I tried to sound indifferent, caging in every emotion I felt at the moment. On the surface I spoke my recounts coolly, while on the inside, agony boiled. I was grateful I had not already wept at her very feet.

Christine nodded, considering my account silently. The conversation took a hesitant turn, her dread-filled eyes a darker brown. Though she denied it, I knew she still feared my temperament. I was not the only one who bore a mask in our twisted tale. In one hastened breath she spoke as if upon their hurriedness, the audibility of her words might escape me.

"Why did you kill them?"

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

I was not certain why I attempted to visit that place where the darkest part of his mind lies… where he is so easily capable of murderous actions. Though this question was the one I was most angry at, the most betrayed by, waiting for the answer filled me with an anxiety that made my palms slick. Would he lash out at me?

Erik only looked at me with those pained grey eyes… a look that flashed raw memories of the past, haunted and scarred, before slowly hanging his head and speaking in a voice so blank and lifeless that the cool air stirred from unrecognition.

"I could tell you many reasons— that Buquet already wished me dead or that his preying on girls had gone on far too long. I could tell you that I heard every monstrous story he told of me, twisting my image into something worthy of countless sleepless nights... stories that have been drilled into my head so far I began to believe them. Or, I could even tell you that I've seen him linger by the girl's dressing rooms with staggering steps, staring hungrily at the chorus girls during rehearsals. Staring at _you_." He looked up at this, though not into my eyes, staring intently at the air. "I _enjoyed it, _Christine." His gaze flicked to mine for only one second before traveling away and downward slowly, his lip curling and hands joining stiffly to hang over his knees. My breathing quickened while my hands held the sheets tightly in fists. I did not want to hear more. _ "_As for Piangi, I only meant to scare him away so that I could take the stage as Don Juan. But, while I held a rope loosely around his neck, talk from gendarmes in the rafters, oblivious as to my presence just below their feet, reached my ears. They were finalizing a plan I knew all about, but they spoke of you. _'The Vicomte claims he has finally managed her into agreeing, that she will give the signal to shoot.'_ I had looked down at Piangi after that, but he was dead."

My throat tightened, the words coming out strangled. "You knew I was supposed to betray you, and yet you still came onstage."

His stormy eyes pierced into mine, a sort of fire rekindled beneath the sea before burning out to cold ash, and he spoke simply. "I had planned to do so for months. The plan had not changed."

Thoughts returned to the stage dancing in red fire, a phantom ignoring death on every balcony and singling in on me with each surrounding step, fingers accompanying a voice to claim me again. I let him possess me. Willingly.

"Your plan to manipulate..."

"A plan that dissolved far before the song had ended -" His voice was soft, more so than the velvet coverlet gathered around me. Just as soft as it had been when he had asked for my love - sang for my love - while I stood in his arms on the bridge, his fingers traveling along my neck delicately and without any of the wicked intentions the previous duet of passion and desire might have implied. It had frightened me. The change had frightened me. Never had he shown such pure and innocent _love. _No, the manipulation was absent and I had felt the change like a tickle to my mind.

"But, none of those reasons cloak the blood on my hands. I killed them. Fate had sealed its course on its own terms, locking away the good in me and replacing it with a maddening need for revenge. I was never meant to have you. I don't deserve you, nor I will never forgive myself for all that I caused you." An ache had entered his voice, bringing horrible emotion to life. He whispered silently with eyes now squeezed shut, "I am so _sorry,_ Christine."

My heart broke in two while a reopened wound emerged. The fresh feelings of betrayal swirled in my mind as his words brought images of that pain I had felt, replicating the heart wrenching disappointment when I saw Buquet hanging from the rafters, limply swaying with those lifeless eyes wide with perpetual fear. Or, the stab I had felt when hearing of Piangi's murder yelled by the stagehands in my whirl of escape with Raoul. My own eyes burned with heat, their own perpetual swollenness from my continuous crying throughout this night.

I took a shallow breath and began to tug anxiously at a curl near my shoulder. Mixed with these feelings I felt mercy and pity, my religion combining with every warm thought he had ever inspired in me. He was not evil… only weak and scared. Yes, he was calculating and cunning, a clever man capable of many deeds. But, he never asked for this life, never woke up with a plan to kill. How did I respond? I could not comfort him _or _condemn his actions. I could not judge him for I have also committed sins.

And so, I began to cry exasperated tears, luminescent drops full of emotional burden. He was staring at his hands but at the sounds of my sobs his head raised, his eyes flicking open as he clenched the arms of the chair.

"If… if only you did not kill. I… things might have been different."

"How different, Christine? It only served to reveal the beast inside of the man."

His voice was soft and soothing to my tears, though his words dripped with bitterness and hatred at his fault. Oh, how I wanted to scream in frustration, to stop his suffering along with my own. There was no way, no method. Nothing to take it all away or turn back the vicious hands of time.

"I refuse to believe that! That fear I felt from your actions drove me to despise you and to want to hurt you as much as you had hurt me. I've sinned as well, Erik! My betrayal... I never wanted any of this… If only you did not kill." I repeated threateningly low, my eyes now dry and my hiccups ceasing.

I felt empty, angry at the way fate played out. My gentleness had vanished, replaced by an empty girl... so emotionally exhausted.

I wanted to throw something but, upon finding nothing to do so, I slammed my fist on the bed with all of my might. It did not ease the pain. I tried again and again, each time growing weaker with hysteria, my head lowering to my drawn up knees, the inaudible words I was whispering growing silent.

Erik placed his hand over mine, stopping it altogether. I peeked through the folds in my dress and stared at his hand, his long fingers wrapping slowly around my own slim ones, inexplicably calming me. I looked at his face, expecting a look that one would give an individual they deemed crazy- one they felt sorry for. He gave nothing of the sort. Instead, he gazed at me with a deep understanding before quickly taking his hand from mine, looking inwardly surprised at our contact.

"The kiss… why did you kiss me?"

My stomach did a nervous twist and I turned my head away at his sudden words, tracing my lips with one finger as my long curtain of hair shielded me from sight.

"I wanted to show you that I had chosen you," I stated simply, knowing very well that he would noticed the lie... the change in my voice. He did.

"You kissed me twice. You did not have to kiss me again for me to free you."

It was only hours ago— the feel of the wedding dress dragging in the lake as I walked to him, the ice of the cool band of metal I slid on my finger, his slack hold on the rope at the sight of me, Raoul's distant look of horror. I could never let Raoul die. The choice was to choose Erik willingly or unwillingly. I had stood up on the tips of my toes and held his face as I kissed him, his lips barely moving. He had stood so still. I remember pulling back, not expecting the warmth that had filled me… not expecting the cool shock of just the mere touch of our lips. I had stared at him in a new awe-filled light, blind to where we were, blind to Raoul's presence. With a need that was not completely fulfilled I had kissed him again, grabbing his neck and leaning completely in to him. He had found the will to move and kissed me back, eventually holding me to him in a desperate embrace. _I wanted to kiss him a third time._

"I did not expect to feel what I felt… the second kiss was completely blind to the situation. The first one was to prove my choice. The second… was not at all." I looked away in shyness. It was silent for a few moments before I turned back to look at him and his strange, unreadable expression.

"What did you feel?"

"I felt warmth… feelings I hadn't felt before. I felt everything that contrasted and warred with what I previously thought was hate and fear."

"Yet, you still left singing words of love to Raoul." The words were an unspoken question, restoring every emotion I had felt as he told me to leave. A cold stone had inhabited my stomach at those pleading words, a large confusion to the relief I had been meant to feel. Of course I was overjoyed that Raoul was safe, but nonetheless, that stone in my gut had remained.

"You sent me away! You forced me to leave! Can you blame me, after what kissing you made me feel, for trying to assure myself of my love for Raoul?"

I gasped, feeling as if my very emotions were speaking instead of me. Erik stood and turned, leaving me to look at his back. He was shaking his head, his knuckles white from gripping the chair's back so tightly. When he turned back his expression was a carefully crafted composure. He might as well have been wearing a mask that covered his _entire_ face due to the lack of readable emotion. With a clear of his throat and a voice filled with a painful husk he changed the topic, much to my relief.

"Christine, you should rest for a moment. I will seek out Antoinette to bring you back to Raoul for it will be light in a few hours. I will return here with her before you wake."

I wanted to protest, though no plausible reason to stay came to mind . Raoul might be awake now, worried out of his mind. Erik was right. As if from his words, my eyes started to close even as I fought to keep them open. Surrendering to the beckoning call of sleep, I slid down on the bed and rested my head on the pillow. It was incredibly soft and inviting, taking away any reserve I had about being in a place so intimately his. My eyes closed and, before darkness took me, I felt the light tips of Erik's fingers trace my cheek and jaw.

…..

I woke to silence, the room dim from snuffed candles. I shot up, momentarily disoriented. Looking around, the house seemed neater, as if he had cleaned up some wreckage in my sleep. The smoke scent had dissipated, leaving the place smelling slightly of roses. Where was he? He should have been back by now. I stood and walked around, running my fingers over the keys of his organ. He was right, though it was quite essential to my plan, I was foolish to have come alone. Excitement had been clouding my judgment as to what lurked in the night. Apparently, I had never grown up from that naïve girl I had been as a child.

I walked over to where he kept his roses and wove one into my hair, carefully walking to the broken mirrors to stare at my sad, jagged reflection. The resemblance to my character of Aminta from tonight's performance was almost laughable, the rose in my hair the only flicker of similarity. My cheeks were now deathly pale and my eyes were shadowed with exhaustion.

A ghost... the ghost of the lively girl I once was.

I returned to the bed and sat in a huff of pillows and a tangled coverlet, throwing my arms out straight and falling onto my back to stare at the stone ceiling.

An hour had seemed to have passed and his home was still silent. Surely it did not take this long to find Madame Giry! My warm second-mother in her strict black dress and tightly plaited hair, always full of some secret with that knowing look in her eyes... My torso turned and I followed to bury my face into the bed, wishing to meld right into it and out of this entwining mess.

I had always guessed that they must know each other well, especially from that knowing look she would give me whenever I would come across a single red rose on my dressing room table, tied with a silken black ribbon; or from the way he talked about her, as if they were old friends; and no doubt, it was she who showed Raoul to this place tonight. The little revelation tumbled through my mind and I stood quickly. They should _both_ be back.

It would be logical to look in the halls where I came, near the storm gate on rue Scribe. I would not get lost for I knew those well and it would be accomplishing much more than just waiting here like a sitting duck. The mobs were gone and everyone was asleep. The corridors beneath Paris would surely remain untouched.

With hard resolve driven by my anxiety to reach Raoul before he woke, I grabbed my cloak and boots.

Soon, I would be back in that little room at the inn, as if nothing had ever happened. My heartbeat quickened; I was not ready to face that reality. How could I pretend I felt hatred towards Erik? I was warranted the right - was _expected_ to feel it.

It was always betrayal... an ungodly amount of swirling betrayal, but, I did not hate him. How could I blame a man that had never been shown love for trying to claim it? Would _anyone_ know love if they had lived as he had?

This... this conversation had not given me the closure I needed! In fact, it worsened my condition. I had relied on my feeble loathing, focusing all of my energy and justifications into that one notion. The malice had dissolved. There was now few means to barring any emotions.

I wrung my hands and fastened the emerald cloak with trembling fingers.

What was the correct way to ease the pain if every trial only served to bring me further into my own compiled, mind-bending mess?

...

I took care to scribble a note in case he returned before me and feared for my whereabouts. I placed the parchment on the bed, knowing he would see it. Grabbing a candle, I set off for the boat. The passageways were moist and dark, taking on the shape of an open, gaping mouth. I set through them regardless, calling for Erik quietly, my voice echoing. _Where_ _were they?_ I began to regret my decision after a few turns, cursing myself inwardly for my impulsiveness. Whim and haste would surely wind together into the noose that would be the end of me. No comforting thoughts existed to ease the cold, creeping sensation up my back. Surely, no one else could navigate these tunnels! I began to turn around, knowing I marked the walls that I walked by with some candle wax to aid me in my return. After walking several feet back the way I came, I heard footsteps close by and practically ran to them, only worrying of the chastising I would get from Erik and Madame for my stupidity.

A part of me almost wished Erik would stay with us to bring me back. The other, more reason-seeing side knew that would only make the goodbye even harder to stomach.

How would I ask? How could I, lengthening the inevitable and permanent farewell?

Once I was exceedingly close, I stopped dead as an inexplicable wall of unease prevented me from walking further. The two sets of footsteps were far too clumsy, too clipped.

I extinguished my candle quickly, dropping it to the floor with a hatched instinct. I turned to run but the lurker's glow of light had already reached me like cold fingers, a mocking voice calling my name. "Little _Daae_." I heard a snarling laugh and twisted my head, daring to look. Two men stood, crudely large and reeking of alcohol. Their eyes glowed with purpose at the sight of me, yellow and bloodshot in the candle's light. I opened my mouth to scream but they were faster, one holding a cloth over my face until white seared my vision.

**I bet you didn't see that coming! Hold on to the comfort that this is only chapter 4; the story is far from over. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Now we jump back to Erik before he left the sleeping Christine. Big mistake on his part, huh? **

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

Christine's eyes shut, the energy almost visibly dissolving from her body as her head fell gently to the side. Daring to touch her face, I followed the soft curve of her cheekbone and the line of her jaw.

_She was so beautiful._

I thought of her words, my mind struggling to make sense of them. Her love for Raoul… somehow, I had made her question that. She had touched me— no, _kissed _me_. _After everything I had done to her she had graced my lips with hers once, and then again out of her own unfathomed urge.

I slid my finger along the soft outline of her bottom lip, barely a ghost of a touch as my heart burned with a sad yearning.

I reminded myself of her fear of me, summoning up clear evidence towards her loathing. I was not allowed to hope; I did not deserve it. I closed my eyes and heard every word she had proclaimed on the roof to that boy, speaking of the endless night she had lived in with the monster. I looked around me, the place in vicious shambles. She had been right; I was a monster.

….

This cellar had looked as my soul felt— ripped open, out of place. I had to clear it in hopes that maybe I'd feel less animalistic.

Almost every belonging of mine was now ruined; the treasures I had acquired over the years, scores of music, anything that reminded me of my brokenness I had broken. Their beauty only reminded me of my pathetic charades of surrounding myself in a prince's dream.

Now, it could almost be considered orderly— as orderly as it ever was— though, nothing could help the mirrors or the burned entities from the flames.

I needed to find Antoinette as vowed. I knew she was the only trustworthy candidate for this deed. Well, a twitch of a smirk emerged, the only person at _all_ that I could contact without threatening.

I put on different garments, already feeling relief from the change. Too much had happened in my previous attire, its bloody decor fueling uneasy memories. I slipped on my cloak and snapped on my gloves before snatching the letter off of my desk, glancing once more at Christine before leaving. Oh, but that glance was almost enough to shatter my will for good. I had her here with me after letting her go and yet I still somehow possessed the strength to seek out the means to her final departure.

_She had gotten all of her answers._

I slipped through a passageway with clenched teeth and a heavy heart, though I kept walking.

_She had already unleashed her troubles and anger._

I grabbed the wall from an aberrant misstep, though I kept walking.

_I would never see her again._

My soul ran back the way I came, though I kept walking.

….

My cloak brushed the tips of the ground, following me on my journey. At increments lay my eyes of the opera house; a clever hole in a painting, strategically positioned drapery, cracks in the stone of the walls… I could travel wherever I wished as cunning as a ghost, knowing all yet frustratingly invisible to the inhabitants that dare hear me and wish to know more.

The air was silent, for everyone lay in a nightmare, the staff turning in their sleep from the spectacle I had caused. The dark side of me grinned, basking in the splendor of the panic. The other side, though hardly light, saw the madness in my actions and shot me an annoying ache of remorse.

How could even a sliver of my being care? Every last one of them wished me dead. They had practically turned the Bal Masque into a jubilation for my hopeful demise, everyone weightless in their _Elysian_ peace from my absence. _I_ nearly ran the entire opera house myself as opposed to the dimwitted, most untasteful managers— if you could even call them that. I had been fueled with rage, thinking they should have treasured my presence and my notes. I packed the seats of the theater with my casting picks and stage directions while those senseless directors could hardly tell a tenor from a soprano. I passed the main foyer and looked at the grand staircase I had descended that night, much to their dismay, with a scrutinizing gaze. The Red Death had made his demands, savoring the ensembles frightened, darting looks. Revenge had only been satisfying when languidly drawn out.

It seemed as if a worlds existed between that man and I. I had let malice and spite control me, and in due course, it cost me my world. Now, any feeling towards the past was becoming listless, drifting away with the distant memories. It was as if I were walking a funeral procession, stopping and somberly drinking in each point of my life until I felt it no longer, attaining a feigned closure as I sent the moment off into the night knowing bitterly of my foolish thinking. The world was not as kind to let those memories slip away.

I walked on.

Letting my eyes graze what the walls allowed me to see, snippets flashed by of gild and a smooth marbled stone that immortalized every striking curve of the refined rooms. I memorized each statue and candle, wanting to hold on to those images as I tucked them away for either safe keeping, or cause for nightmare; I was not sure.

I watched the main halls from my own secret corridors, picturing the frivolity and excitement I used to witness daily. Buzz would circle as drunken merry men tested their limits with the ballet rats as they, in turn, tested their innocence; actors would march on oblivious to all else as they practiced their lines in a rapid whisper, practically plowing the crowd down; refined gentlemen would gawk at the wondrous art as they debated the political issues that seemed so separate from this world of imagination; and a sea of chorus girls would be giggling in their nervousness on their way to another rehearsal with blooming hopes of fame. The bubbling had been very nearly contagious. More than once I had caught myself smiling with them or opening my mouth to interject as if no wall of stone stood between us and I walked among them. Those moments only made me more hostile, reminding me continuously of how cut off I was, watching alone from a cold, dark hall as the opera house thrived. I had grown up with these performers, watching their lives bend and change as my life of night remained a constant thrum of solitude humming in my ear. I said farewell to that sad boy as well, willing a numb detachment from the remembrance of his bleak past.

My trek was morbid, making final peace with a life I was still living. I was shocked the mob had given up, though with the fear my name conveyed they might have perceived to encounter much more than a man slumped in surrender, passively waiting for death to relieve him of his agony. Even after all I had worked for at the Populaire, I knew I had to leave— forget. There was no longer a hold to keep me here.

….

I knew the way to Antoinette's room, as was I aware of my passing the possible ways to reach it. The truth was bitter. I had realized she must have had everything to do with Raoul's appearance. He would have never known how to find his way without her. Had that boy not shown, the outcome may have been quite different. I had just begun to tell Christine of my past, the first step to what would have ultimately led to the delving we had just completed. She had not feared me moments ago. In fact, she had appeared quite at peace, calmly listening to my explanations and readily answering my questions. With all of these what-could-have-been's in mind, it was relatively easy to give in to the resentment that began to creep along with my steps.

I paced back and forth in the dark in front of yet another passageway, knowing I only had to take a right and then a left and I would be in front of that humble wooden door. I could not face her, not only for fear of my temperament around her, but for fear of seeing her, the first and almost only woman that had ever shown me kindness after everything I had done to dissolve my deserving of it. I did not want to look into her disappointed eyes, turned away in a submissive manner as she agreed to get Christine away from what she would think to be my continued hold on her. Antoinette will probably believe that I had everything to do with Christine's visit!

I could not bring myself to do it, my feet glued to the crumbling grey stone. I ran a hand roughly through my hair and growled at my cowardice; I towered over the poor woman! With a new determination I sauntered through the turns until I was met with the door, one of the only known doors connecting to these corridors, and sighed as I glanced through the keyhole. The sound was of both relief and frustration. The room was empty.

My thoughts wandered back to Christine and I grew impatient. She would have woken now, what with the internal clock of her unrest to arrive back with her precious Raoul! An idea more welcome than I'd ever dare to admit, I decided that I would return her. There was no time to search for Antoinette and the night was not permanent for the rest of the world; I can't let Christine pay for my falter if she were to arrive later than promised.

I stalked back the way I came, still without light; living a life in darkness had made my senses rather adaptable. My steps grew heavy as I neared the cellars, knowing the time was imminent for Christine's solidified absence. I was used to solitude, though with her… I found myself biding the time.

I had almost stepped back into one of my entrances when I faintly smelled a sickly sweet odor. I turned on my heel and followed the source, a peculiar feeling making my throat tight. My footfalls were barely a sound; I wanted to have the advantage in whatever I encountered.

The pungent scent grew stronger, seemingly floating, and my eyes drew to the ground in a sweeping manner before turning into a gaze so full of a burning fear I was certain it could obliterate the image lain before me from existence. A candle, one from my collection, lay abandoned next to a pathetic crumple of a rose, the sight swaying in my misbelieving vision. My quick mind strung it all together into one ghastly possibility, a thought that filled my body with an indescribable cold. The world held its breath, an eerie calm before a vicious storm.

And then it exploded.

**Raoul**

**.**

**.**

My eyes opened slightly, uneager to leave the pull of sleep. Night was turning to dawn and an almost royal purple sheen shone through the window, washing the room in the color.

The room felt oddly cold, almost larger than it had been before. I ran the back of my hand over my eyes to rub the exhaustion away and turned my head. What I saw woke me up like an icy splash of water, causing me to leap off of the bed in a lightheaded, completely disorienting panic.

I saw… nothing.

Christine was gone.

The sheets lay crumpled beside me and an open window laughed with its billowing curtains. _The window. _Did she…? I dispensed of the thought quickly. Surely the events were not so horrifying that she would decide to take her _life_. Christine would never even consider such a thing.

But, what could have possibly occurred? My thoughts wandered to an unwelcome place, the wound still rash and open. It was _him._ It must be. That horrendous devil must have changed his sick mind and taken her right from my grasp! I grew hot with hatred, vowing to kill him in silent curses under my breath. I had almost died from his games, and yet, that monster was not yet satisfied!

I had grabbed my sword belt and coat, ready to storm back to the all-damning opera house when a halting idea withered away my strength to walk on. I sat on the edge of the bed.

What if she had left me with her own will intact? _Oh, that girl and her pliable mind. _Did she believe that man was redeemable? The scene ran before me, so realistic I could still feel the rope cutting my bound wrists and neck as I watched helplessly, every word I wanted to yell dying before it breached my lips. Christine had kissed him and I had been horrified. _How could she hold his face_, I had thought, _or touch him at all?_ I remembered, far too intensely, every sickening detail, every expression on their open faces. Once I was released I could not reach the boat fast enough, restraining myself with great effort from hurrying her as she lingered near him in tears. She had given him her ring, solidifying her chains that were bound to him. I had almost dropped the oar, listening to her sing lovingly to me with betrayed ears. Who was she convincing? I knew she loved me… I had _thought _she did. What if that wasn't enough?

I wanted to burst; my stomach churned at my thoughts! Was I meant to accept her decision and live on with my life? I _loved_ her; I could not simply give up. Perhaps I was correct and her life really was at risk! Why would she have left with no note, no word? Something did not sit right in my pounding head. With a foreboding determination, I made a promise to myself under the purple light and the shivering, empty air.

I would not rest until I found Christine Daae.

**Christine **

**.**

**.**

_I stood in a blue frock, my small toes wiggling their way through the wet sand. The wind and my tears blurred my vision as I rubbed my red scarf, my only remaining keepsake from my mother, between my thin fingers. Underneath the years of wear I could almost still smell her perfume, the light rose. An abrupt gust of wind suddenly blew the silk through my grip and, to my terror, into the sea! I cried out, standing frozen in silent hysterics. Gone, gone, my mother was gone along with my scarf. But, it wasn't gone for a small figure splashed into the water, retrieved it, and clumsily made his way back to me. I immediately grabbed the young boy in a hug, ignoring his sopping wet clothes. My cheeks felt warm with a grateful happiness and I held the damp scarf to me, mumbling through the fabric to ask his name._

_"__I'm Raoul de Chagny."_

Like a flame of light, consciousness flickered before again snuffing out my senses.

….

_I stood, tying my lace wrapper involuntarily while my mind wandered elsewhere. Raoul remembered me— Little Lotte! I was so certain he did not recognize my face in the mass of chorus girls for he had passed by without a second glance. Oh, but he was so rash, what with expecting me to accompany him to supper without my acceptance. I had told him my angel was strict! He would not understand that Raoul was only an old friend, someone to remind me of home. As if hearing my thoughts, my angel spoke in a resonating voice, asserting his dislike towards my childhood playmate and his impertinence. In a strange haze time must have passed for now my hand was held in his gloved one. How could any of this be? My mind had no time to question; I followed him obediently down stone corridors, flames illuminating his piercing eyes. Those eyes rarely strayed from mine, a knowing look glimmering in their depths. I stared at him with bursting awe, realizing who I was being led by. Caution did not exist, nor did time. This man, this phantom, was touchable and very real. A small part of my mind yelled at me, reminding me of how very far I was from any resident, passerby, or any safety for that matter. The sound of his silk voice hushed that thought into nothingness. Like out of a fairytale, I was guided on an ebony horse by a darkly captivating knight before then travelling curious waters, every reflection swallowed by the mist. We finally reached the lavish home and I sang for him, desperately wanting to please the _ man _and not some celestial being_. The man! _The future was now an endless twine of possibilities. Soon, a delight to my thirsting ears, he sang to _me_. The song romanticized the night and my body thrummed with energy in the thought of it all, any reserve fading away as I wrapped myself in his voice. He held me closely to him, letting his hands roam my bodice slowly as my eyes closed and my strength to stand began to wane. Who was he? _

….

_I sat with Meg in the dormitory facing each other on our small beds, still in constant check of our fleeting seclusion. I had confided in Meg in a breath of a whisper of my time with the phantom as she listened closely with eager ears. I left out his rage-filled outburst and vulnerable admittances for I still needed time to process those. A dreaming night had turned into a horrible morning as I witnessed a rage in him that I had never known... even when he was just an angel! _

_Meg was twirling her blonde curls between her fingers, her blue eyes bright with excitement._

_"__I can't believe this!" Her expression turned inward as she absorbed my account. "The Opera Ghost is a man… He took you down to… to the cellars!" She scrunched her face before slapping a hand over her mouth in sudden revelation._

_"__What is it, Meg? Please tell me you don't know him… do you?"_

_Meg jumped up, motioned for me to follow, and then led me to a small storage room attached to the dormitory. It held stage props and arbitrary parts of costumes along with the air of a perfect hiding place. She took her time making sure we were perfectly alone before closing the door with a barely audible click._

_"__My mother… she told me once of a man she knew that lived beneath the opera house. She had rescued him from some tragedy when they were young and hid him there, assisting in whatever accommodations he needed. Oh, I just can't remember all of the details! I had discovered a secret passageway one early morning before you came to live here many years ago and mother had whisked me away and sat me down, only telling me the story with knowledge of my inevitable pestering had she not explained it!"_

_"__And you did not know he was the phantom?" It seemed strange that she would have walked around clueless to her own awareness! _

_"__No! I know that sounds silly, but… I had never known he came up from his home! After a while it all slipped from my mind for I believed he would have left by then, once it was safe, or maybe if a relative found him. When the phantom's tricks began three years ago— Well, I guess I thought them to be two different beings! How does one survive all these years as he does? Oh, I wish I could remember more! Mother told me to never ask again." _

_"__Can you think of his name? Did she tell you?"_

_Meg was lost in a train of thought, clearly thinking quite hard when suddenly her eyes blazed with remembrance._

_"__His name… it's Erik!" _

_ …__._

My head felt fuzzy and warm and upon opening my eyes I could not see a thing. Fabric tickled my nose; I was blindfolded. My arms and legs were bound as well with the same rough fabric. The ground I sat on moved, rumbling and jaggedly bumping. The sound of wheels on an uneven surface sent a shiver of fear down my arms. A flood of realization returned as my fatigue faded, bringing along with it the searing memory of my sudden capture. I felt like I couldn't breathe, as if the rags were stuffed down my throat along with their deterring my movement.

_How long have I been in here? Where were we going?_

I began to thrash violently, the relentless fabric digging into my flesh.

_Was I still in Paris? …France?_

I tried to scream but a large hand came down over my mouth, muffling the sound. I bit it hard, tasting dirt and sweat. I heard a grunt before another hand came down on my face hard, leaving my ear buzzing and my cheek hot. A rough voice growled his threat and I trembled at the icy drip of his words.

"Careful, _mademoiselle_. Next time, I may not be so nice as to let you wake up."

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

I burst into my home that, though ice cold, felt as hot as hell. I should never have left her alone. Letting out a yell of anguish, I madly walked around the premises grabbing what I needed. I threw it all on the bed: weapons, an array of masks, garments, and a rather large amount of francs. The area she had slept on was still warm from her presence, an agony to my trembling hands.

"All my doing, this was all my doing," I repeatedly muttered under my breath as I packed it all.

The bed was so ruffled and disarrayed that I almost missed the slip of paper hiding beneath a fold in the coverlet. I paused and read the thin script with dreading eyes before crumpling it and holding it in a fist.

_She had been searching for me. I had taken my time wandering… and she had been searching for me. _

The only thread keeping me from falling apart was the dooming clock hanging over my head. Time was the enemy here. No other concrete figure existed yet— no name to condemn. Time could not be wasted.

I focused on my breathing, the dismal swirl of my thoughts throwing dots of black in my vision. I walked back into the halls with an uncharacteristic stumble, desperate to get the chemical aroma out of my spinning head.

Armed for whatever I might encounter, I stalked to my makeshift stable to retrieve Cesar. I had reached to yank the rope that held him to the wall when I saw yet another piece of paper protruding from the space between two stones. With all of these notes I began to understand the frustration I had caused with my own. I ripped it out of the wall and read it in dire confusion. On the front lay a colorful image of a carnival tent, the inducing familiarity it caused forcing me to lean on the wall against the weight of the scarring memories. A clown's head served as the opening to the tent and its eyes seemed to watch you as its taut mouth smiled a sickly sneer. Gaudy letters titled the front: _Coney Isle's Carnival of Freaks. _I swallowed hard and flipped it over, at first not understanding the purpose. Oh, but the intent soon became quite clear. It's crudely scribbled letters almost caused me to drop the invitation, one word holding more power than what I ever dare thought the entire mob could bring.

_Hurry._

The address resided in America.

I slid the paper into my cloak and mounted Cesar in one leap, whipping the reins into action as we thundered out of the exit, only stopping once to check the whereabouts of the note I had placed under a wooden crate beside one of the exits to the building. I breathed a jagged sigh of relief; it was gone. Out of all of my sin's retributions, I had been granted with this one triumph.

The sky was the grey of dawn that gave every tree and building a most ominous gleam. I strategically placed my hood so that it would shadow my mask as we raced past the lower class of Paris setting up their markets, barely seeing their startled looks at our rather disrupting disturbance to the still and rapid-approaching morning. The only sound I heard was the change from the clap of Cesar's hooves on stone to the crunch of his pounding on leaves as we entered a path in the woods. Hopefully Nadir, upon reading my letter, had understood the utmost prominence and was already on his way to our usual meeting spot. _Don't fail me, Daroga. _

Each second brought a new horrifying image into my head of what might be happening to Christine, each worse than the last. I shuddered as they filled every hollow of my being, swirling with questions and shuttering imaginings of an anguished girl, helpless to whatever forces held her prisoner. Why was she their victim? How could she have possibly been the heart of this game of deliberate abduction? She has endless admirers, which I'm sure also brings a jealous-ridden collection that would not mourn the disappearance of Paris' beloved songbird. Did the drunkards of the theater succumb to their repulsive yearnings, not fully appeased by the glimpses they could see through their holes in the wall of the girl's dormitory? I clenched the reins tighter, every muscle turning rigid from every sordid possibility, none of which explaining the strange destination. Who would go to the trouble of smuggling her to America?

My line of thought was only disrupted when Cesar halted suddenly, rearing back with a scared whinny. I had been mindlessly urging him on with the reins nearly into another horse! Annoyed at any interference to the withering time I had towards my rescue, I precariously steered Cesar around the other stallion and his rider while tugging the hood farther over my face. The last thing I needed was to be recognized, a predicament that would only serve to present an even larger setback. I looked out of the corner of my eye at the passerby and was met with his own curious gaze. The face nailed into place, as did mine, even amidst the smoke sky and a shared haste. I stared at him with calculating eyes as his own were filled with hatred. He had found his target.

"Where is she," Raoul demanded with what I could only predict to be his stab at intimidation. I moved my eyes to the tight grip he held on his sword and then back to his gaze, almost inclined to laugh at the look of near triumph in his expression.

_Ah, if only I knew._


	6. Chapter 6

**Erik**

.

.

The air was the cold that whipped through your clothes, unforgivingly burning your eyes and your throat. A dense copse of dark trees lined the hidden dirt path I had ridden to, worn from continuous travel, leaving you forced to either continue on or turn back; not even I knew what lurked in this area of the woods.

Meanwhile, a mighty Vicomte trailed behind me with an unending line of threats that ended in a faltering, exasperated whine as so:

"Answer me, you… you demon!"

"You foul, cowardice beast, you just weren't finished with your games, were you? Was that it?"

"Was her freedom a sick joke to you, dangling it in front of us all before, again, snatching it?"

"I know you have her. I demand you tell me where she is or I vow that this will be the last of your days!"

His efforts were notable, I'd grant him that tribute.

I slowed Cesar, each comment bouncing off of my occupied mind harmlessly, and twisted around to meet him with a venomous glare as I let my hood fall completely. All I saw was my world breaking down to ash before my eyes, but the need for intimidation managed to find his gaze. I needed to keep his fear alive, even after having seen me at my weakest.

"If I did have Christine, as you so knowingly proclaim, do you truly believe I would be taking a leisurely ride on this horse for all to witness? Would I leave her at all? Not even _you _are that foolish."

Raoul looked like he had been punched. His only lead had been crushed, leaving him with a blank look in his eyes. A sickening daze had taken over his features, erasing any victory as my words settled.

I was almost inclined to pity him. He had to have put every hope into this blame, casting aside worry by holding on to my guilt. Now, he was left to relinquish any thoughts of an easy save from the man—who he had so recently witnessed the depths of his vulnerable mortality, much to my humiliation— in the cellars.

In fact, though begrudgingly, I did feel an ounce of sympathy. _Sympathy. _He was wearing exactly as he had worn last night when I had squeezed the Punjab's rope tight around his neck. I had used him insidiously as a ploy to my manipulation, knowing very well that Christine could not refuse. It was unsettling seeing him so soon after my attempt at his murder and, at the sight, I whirled around to face forward, away from his stripped green eyes. With a kick I urged Cesar onwards, staring into the horizon until the line between the grey sky and indigo earth blurred. The shame I felt only magnified, warring with the determined set of my square jaw. Why could he not leave? His presence, his voice, merely fed the ravenous beast that feasted on my pain. I still could see him writhing as his life lay literally in my hands, while, only picturing loving Christine in his hold.

_This is all of my fault._

I wanted to kill him, finishing what I had started hours ago, while wishing he would bolt the other way, away from my painful remorse; away from my withering will to hold myself together for Christine's sake.

Humanity truly did halt my narrowed thoughts; though even for a monster, a moral compass ticks.

Ah, but he followed with a clap of his boot on his own steed.

"Where do you think you're going? You must know _something_; you would never leave knowing Christine was missing with such indifference."

_Indifference? I would hardly call indifference wanting to strangle every person responsible for her abduction with my bare hands, watching the life drain from their worthless eyes._

Her kidnapping was only a puzzle, one which emotions only delayed the progress of. I would find a way around each wall and a method to overcome each void in my path, not resting until I found my way back to her.

I called to the air in front of me, "I, dear Raoul, am meeting a friend."

**Raoul**

**.**

**.**

He did not have Christine.

I stared at the man, only feeling his hands forcefully binding my arms, winding the rope around my neck; only seeing his lips on Christine's, his murderous hands on her delicate waist; only hearing the resonant, deceiving voice that had captured her soul.

And yet, he did not have Christine.

I grabbed Phillip's reins to steady myself, the earth turning around me. The trees grew in slanted and the ground threatened to slam into my side. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly until I had rationally calmed.

He had to know something. Yes, he had let her go— let both of us go. But, his feelings for her could never have diminished over the course of a night.

Or… ever, for that matter.

Though shown in a horribly twisted way, I knew how much this man loved Christine. In the depths of my mind, I must have always known.

And I loved her, also.

And she was gone.

Or at least, that was the primary possibility that barged its way into my panic-filled head! Could she be with the Giry's? She would have left a note, or better yet, spoken to me about her random excursion!

No, that beast was showing enough emotion in his eyes for me to know otherwise. Nothing innocent had happened— no misunderstanding.

Well, either way I wouldn't _know_, for my only source of info rode on into dawn with an impenetrably shut-off demeanor.

I tried to prod it out of him— provoke a reaction. I called his bluff, waiting for him to turn around again and snap at my claim, revealing anything that could help my search. I wanted to be near him no more than he must fancy my presence.

He did nothing of the sort.

Sure, I could involve the most elite gendarmes of Paris. My family's funds could hire the most renowned investigators in all of France!

But, what could they go on? My one connection was this horrible, masked man and he was already slipping into the distance. All I possessed was an empty room at the inn with a window, open and forgotten in the icy wind that echoed my fervent questions. They would call my claim absurd! Or, at least, impossible to solve. Christine would never be found.

I had no choice but to follow him— Erik. The name felt vile merely thinking it. Who was this friend he spoke of, this man blind enough to help that creature?

**Nadir**

**.**

**.**

The wind rustled the leaves around my boots, the winter gusts provoking a lazy, swirling vortex; and, I, was in the eye of it. I sighed at my pocket watch, the thin hand wound much farther around its circular path than from when I first arrived here. The golden pattern wrapped around the front of the case, only now starting to show some signs of age in the minor tarnish dusting the innermost crevices of the intricate carvings. It had been a gift from Erik long ago.

Where _was _that man?

I knew that he would leave Paris eventually, fed up with his way of living. He had always been such a free spirit, needing to learn every aspect of the world, full of an insatiable wanderlust. And I once promised him that I would accompany him on his departure, whenever it would be.

That oblivious girl had practically chained him to the opera alone with his love, hopeless in the depths of the cellars! I was there at _Don Juan, _though I rarely attended the operas, led by an inexplicable feeling of dread whispered by its harbinger. I sat in the velvet seat in frozen shock at the performance before me, or lack thereof. I watched the Vicomte's open splay of emotions on his face as he stood at the balcony, unmoving and forgotten. Oh, but then she took off his mask!

I had watched the crystal chandelier come crashing down, fueled with love's betrayal, screaming a thousand screams with its diamonds shuddering and the rope drawing a rapid line in the arching ceiling. The panic was deafening, everyone dashing for the exits in their best evening attire. But, I? I remained and stared with horribly pained eyes as he whisked Christine down, knowing he had finally ruined it. I could vividly imagine what happened there, a solemn guess at what caused him to finally want to leave all that he had created here— all that he loved.

The letters had begun to dwindle over the months until stopping almost completely— right around the time a certain engagement was printed in the papers. I was almost stunned to have found a crisp envelope this morning on my customary stroll from my house at rue de Rivoli. I checked the box only out of habit; we had not seen each other in quite some time. He sometimes wrote of news in the opera, progress of his works… rarely of her. But this letter, I was not surprised of the words it held. In fact, once I held it, it seemed to weigh down in my hands, daring my fingers to open the depressing insides. Its contents were not quite as lengthy as usual, but, heartbreaking to say the least. Each word was etched with heavy pain, the ink practically bleeding into the point of incomprehensibility. _It's time, Daroga, _it had said at the bottom_. _I could almost hear his voice as if it were next to me, drained and blank as I read it with a heavy heart. I held the disappointment a brother would have whom had hoped for change only to realize he was still left to put the pieces back together for his stubborn, unwilling, though constant comrade.

So, here I have waited by the large tree in our secluded hideaway in the forest since his instructed time of half past four. But, now dawn's sun was bleeding orange through the trees and Erik was still nowhere in sight.

We couldn't go back to Persia— that was positively certain. Erik was perceived a dead man, and dead he would remain to them if I had any say in it! To add to the matter, I was also banned— a pesky predicament for returning to my beloved home. The last thing I needed, along with my being strung along to suffer the consequences of Paris, was to have the Shah's sycophants hounding us. No, we had to disappear. Maybe Germany? Vienna? The Viennese always had a way with music; we could begin again.

And to think I was beginning to enjoy Paris and its marvelous culture! I would be bitter towards the magnitude of my faithful, abiding friendship had he not saved my life more times than I could count.

A clap of hooves and the blustering breath horses sported grew louder in the silence and I whirled towards its direction.

_Finally. _The early signs of hypothermia had begun to creep up my fingers and toes and the vastness of the forest had started to swallow my form. I rubbed my hands together and stomped my feet, watching the horses approach through the white air of my breath.

_Horses? _As in, _more than one?_

Dumfounded, I peered into the trail and nearly stumbled at the unsettling sight.

My masked friend rode his black steed, his cloak flowing in the wind behind him like angry waters. Even after years of association his presence still held that recklessness, formidably striking in a way that made you stare and fear. He was a force to be reckoned with, blending with the trees, a stark white mask showing his snarl.

Along with years of friendship came the teetering, sometimes faulty, though usually gratifying ability to decipher his expressions and peculiar habits. I never could quite figure out the whole story, a man with that ungodly level of complexity not one to ever fully let his guard down. The mask had affected him over the years, an ever-present barrier there to shield him from the world. He, in turn, grew to mask all of himself, including, but not limited to, his emotions which were only magnified from endless repression.

Though, now, the strain in his face; the unendurable pain in his eyes, the blue of them a ring of eternal and broken sadness; his rigid hold on the reins; the occupied look of a thousand miles away— I knew something had gone horribly wrong.

But on the other horse… Raoul de Chagny, to my complete dismay, towed closely behind. And here I thought I was accustomed to surprises, what with a companion like Erik and his whiplash ways! Raoul's visage and motive was much more difficult to determine. I hardly knew the man! I did know, only adding to my shock, that Erik had attempted to kill him. I had remained as the theater evacuated, ready to storm the winding passageways myself. I could not let Erik do this, though I knew he had passed his own point of any return. The song had morphed into a deadly mantra that I feared would lead him to his final end! He needed to be stopped, to know that he _could_ stop, for Allah's sake! Before I had talked myself into interfering— I had merely entered a hall after the delay of the endless crowds— Raoul had run past me with one arm crushingly around Christine. His other hand was groping at his neck, the raw ring of rope burn prominent.

And Christine's face, the brokenness…

The murder effort an obvious factor aside, Raoul looked so completely distraught. He did not appear to want to kill Erik, as I had previously suspected, but as if he wanted something— and was failing at getting it.

I shuffled over with an exasperated sigh, knowing I was more than likely about to be dragged into some antic or another.

"Change of plans, Daroga!"

His voice lacked the usual flamboyantly acerbic tone to it, the effort at his frequently worn nonchalance completely transparent.

"What do you mean— are we not leaving France? What about the letter?"

I was not sure whether to feel elated or quite petrified! I had been trained in the Persian court as chief of police for the Shah; I was a man held high in honor and fear. But, if we remained here, a Vicomte more than likely bent on sharing our whereabouts with all of France's gendarmes, we would never make it. I was now an accomplice to Erik's crimes and would pay along with him.

Raoul sat quietly on his stallion, though his face was a frustrated twist at the lack of acknowledgment as he waited and listened.

"Well, yes we are… but Nadir, never mind the letter! It's Christine—"

Erik's calm visage faltered drastically and, in his haste to come down, he nearly stumbled off of the horse, gripping the tree tightly as he fought for words. Though, I noted curiously, he could never seem to rid himself of that fluid elegance in his motions even in the most panicked of movements. He looked like Atlas, the weight of the world balancing itself on his shoulders. The entirety of its effect on him was just now surfacing as his mind began to think and remember, the momentum and adrenaline vanishing as he stood there with ceaseless thoughts visibly racing behind his eyes. He was suffering a bereavement beyond imagination, his expected coolness edged with this look of utter despair. Had the girl somehow perished? I could not bring myself to speak or interrupt his innermost thoughts.

"They've taken her. I do not know who… but they took her the moment they could! We need to get her back." Erik spoke in a distracted voice, the words coming out of him like a generated message only serving to explain. It was as if no one else were there in that forest of frosted trees and hissing wind. "Oh, if it is the last thing I do," he growled to himself, "I will find her."

No, this was much worse than her death. Death was final. Disappearance… at the hand of some predator… he did not know if she were alive or not; if she were suffering or not. I could see it in his eyes, the root of his anguish and contempt. He hated himself for his own incompetence, uselessness… Nothing angered Erik more than a problem that he could not fix, as he so always held himself to an inhuman standard that, once questioned or unmet, crumbled his world and fueled his self-hatred further.

Fate had played its card, winding in the one person he could not live without into a maze that not even Erik possessed the solution to. It was cruelty in the highest degree, some unknown force almost knowingly trying to push this cursed man past his breaking point once and for all with every scarring event he had lived through.

Oh, I saw the ever-present malice, the frightening bloodlust as he already calculated every possible solution with cunning ingenuity even amidst the shattering hold that her random abduction had over his every sense. But, if he failed at this, I thought with rising fear and creeping, dreadful apprehension; there would be no more of him— no more humanity.

Raoul jumped off his own white mount, looking both as if any second he would flee back the way he came, while holding a curiously varying look of careful determination, frustration, and bitter contempt all in one; if such a look existed.

"Can someone _please _tell me what is going on?!"

Erik, without a glance at his previous enemy, slid a small paper from his vest and handed it to me, letting me in on his agony.

_America._

We were going to America.

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

Once I had come out of my drugged daze, after I first understood the intensity of this ordeal, my first clear realization had been that I was in a brougham. I had not recognized the door against my back or the familiar feel of its bumpy sway in my previous haze of slipping in and out of consciousness.

Blindfolded I had remained for the short trip that felt like a lifetime in my cramped position and horrid thoughts. As we came to a stop, so did two other carriages that I had failed to notice before. The man with me barked an order to stand and something in his voice, the rasp of taut patience, forced me to obey with a shiver of fear down my back, my legs weak and aching from the crumpled position I had sat in. My bound hands made standing quite difficult and my captor yanked me up, practically shoving me out of the carriage. I had landed savagely on gravel and the chalk smell and dust flooded my nostrils, causing my eyes to water.

From what I could gather, there were five men— maybe more… maybe less. Footsteps were not reliable to my failing attempt at discovering _anything. _I did recognize the voice of the one that had known my name back at the Populaire, sending me into a relapse of my last sight; his horrible, looming form, their liquor-filled breath, the helpless slip into drugged unconsciousness. Hate filled every crevice of me, only quieted on the outside by my utter impotence.

I was then crudely and roughly led inside a house, hands grabbing at me while throaty laughs ensued. Not one monster respected or treated me more than an inanimate prize to bring to their waiting master. I had stumbled over everything in the darkness until I was thrown into a dark room, a hand simultaneously ripping off the blindfold to give me the view of four window-less grey walls.

An hour had seemed to pass before the door opened with the slide of a bolted lock and a sad bowl of stew was shoved across the floor, its contents sloshing over the side. My stomach growled, though I had pierced the door with my stare for a considerable length of time before succumbing and consuming the gritty, barely edible meal.

They had come in the room at intervals, muttering under their breath before, again, closing the door; once to make sure I had eaten; once to take away the bowl; and, twice more to make sure I was still in the same corner I had grown to inhabit.

Of course I had already tried my hand at questions, asking and crying out until my voice grew hoarse. But, I had long since learned that hell would freeze before those heartless puppets would tell me a thing. I was not mindless. Once I realized my efforts were to no avail, that these captors had no intentions on telling me one single explanation, I simply stopped. In fact, they had seemed to quite enjoy my obliviousness.

And disgusted, I had decided that sitting mute would give me a small victory- a mental upper hand.

I was left with my own thoughts for a while, watching the same crack on the wall, infuriatingly disoriented and drowsy. A million questions flitted around, while my encounter with Erik sat abandoned in the back of my mind. I could not think of him now… not yet.

What a fool I was, thinking the only problem I, poor Christine Daae, possessed was my dramatic opera of a life! At least I had felt minute control then, taking my life by the reins and deciding my own ending. Now, the future was a horrific black abyss, controlled by worthless monsters while I sat in resignation and waited for the next atrocity with a grim, unsettling expectancy.

For maybe the first time in my life, music had abandoned my soul. The quiet, erratic refrains I would hear in everyday sounds had vanished, the formerly unceasing thrum of melodies only a distant memory.

The warmth that used to envelope my body in Paris knowing I was surrounded by the people and sights that were so familiar and constant was stripped away, leaving me cold and blank— a lifeless doll, disturbed to the point of cracking its glass skin.

My eyes and nose were so raw and agitated to the degree where I no longer cried, the tears frozen in protest.

I prayed to my father, pleading for him to change my fate. I would give anything to go back to living with him on the streets of Sweden, having a seemingly poor life to outsiders and onlookers while we ignored it all, feeling unbelievably and unbreakably rich in our love and music.

I needed his guidance… hope.

My thoughts then left me empty; submissive and empty, a feeble-skinned French actress slowly accepting her fate. Of course I dare not show this to my captors— now, when in their presence, I was the picture of infuriating blankness— but, strength falters when you're alone.

_Wash,_ they had ordered, steering me by the arm into another smaller room with a tub and dressing screen. _You must look presentable. _Then, as if feeling naked without their habitual threats meant solely to squash my spirits under their boot, one of the larger men had sneered; though, my passiveness was quickly ruining their repulsive amusement, _And don't think of trying anything. You will have wished yourself dead the day you let that quiet mind of yours attempt escape._

_The day? _I had stared at the retreating man, knowing then that this was something revoltingly planned with each hour commencing a new, deliberately calculated step. His smile had faltered at my intense look as I searched him, trying to find any sliver of compassion or morality.

They were always vague, so infuriatingly vague while they conversed in hushed tones, only speaking to me in clipped orders. I knew nothing.

I stood and looked at the metal tub as if waiting for it to explain itself. Though far from a kindness— I saw nothing but an order being followed in their servitude stature, their lack of power leaving them to play with the prey only mentally with threatening words— I did not question this time; I merely grabbed any chance of solitude.

….

Once I was alone, I moved the dressing screen to block the tub from any view. The only comfort I had in my safety to bathe was the loud click of the bolt. It would serve as a harbinger had any of them tried to come in. And, quite honestly? I was not certain they wouldn't.

I let the lukewarm water soak me, slowly draining every strain of panic from my sore joints in this momentary state of normalcy, this feigned barrier to cruel reality of my still unexplained abduction.

Maybe I could pretend I was not here if I just closed my eyes.

Now, I could almost feel Erik's warm velvet coverlet engulfing my body, warm sunshine and tickling flowers at my toes, or even the radiant ray of a spotlight as I sung onstage as opposed to this imminently cold, unfeeling water.

But, I opened my eyes and the metal washbasin only felt icy against my shivering, exposed skin and the pungent fragrance of the herbal oil grew as its scent wafted innocently from its container, threatening to penetrate the blissful wall I had built solely for the survival of my sanity. Every second with these men brought me mentally further from home, further from anyone I loved, from all that made up my life, my entire soul; the invisible clock ticked, its monotonous echoes pounding at me from all sides until I drew my knees up to my chin in a crumpled and defeated heap. I could very well be only minutes from Paris— still in Paris!— though, my mind refused to believe it.

I submerged my head under the water, my hair swirling around me in a cape of tickling dark; and, I screamed. No one could hear me… no one could save me; but, in the dark that so perfectly mirrored my mind, I screamed.

….

After several minutes of mindlessly watching the strange pattern on the dressing screen while my fingers and toes pruned, I heard a slow click and the lazy creak of the heavy door.

Every nerve in me froze, fields of goose bumps rising on my arms.

My eyes darted in a frenzy, searching for any way out of this inescapable hell.

_This is not real… If I wish it away, it will leave me be._

Childish thoughts whirled in my brain, my innocence fighting against its rapid-approaching end.

I shakily grabbed a towel— as if that could truly shield me from whatever defiler had slinked in as quiet as a shadow— and held it to my chest, barely breathing.

But, a soft voice called out; a girl's voice.

"Mademoiselle," it started carefully, the title coming out awkwardly. "You don't have to worry… I only bring something to change into. No one will come in."

I slowly stood up and wrapped myself in the towel, letting out a quiet gasp of relief. My insides seemed to unwind themselves as my thudding heart calmed. Stepping out into the shivering air, I peered around the screen and saw a beautiful girl. She was definitely foreign; her hair was a cascade of straight ebony and her skin a warm chestnut. _Mediterranean_, I decided. Her eyes were a dark emerald, her face rid of the childish softness so that it almost looked carved. She appeared to be around twenty— a few years older than me.

The girl seemed warm enough and I almost found myself pulled to her, yearning for any form of kindness. Though extremely inexplicable, I believed her words. Maybe it was because she was the first person to treat me with decency; or, from the lack of coldness in her demeanor… though, like a frightened caged animal struggling to trust once more in an unkind world, I believed her nonetheless.

I let her help me with the corset of the simple dress as I stared down at its stiff pleats. I was so used to the elaborate, extreme costumes at the opera that this stark change only served to solidify further the death of that naïve girl who believed that the good in the world would outweigh the bad. Though, a small weight released with the gratitude and comfort of being out of that thin, practically transparent nightdress.

I could feel her watching me while both of us stood silent, her nimble fingers working the black lacing.

A precarious battle was waging in my mind; my wanting desperately to break the silence versus my fear of severing whatever unspoken agreement we had come to of savoring the short moment away from the cruelty, floating in a quiet understanding.

Why should she help me? She was evidently tied to the other men— a relative, maybe. And, she did not even know me or hold any reason to have my interests at heart.

But still… I was delirious and my hope for humanity was crumbling, begging me to find something concrete to hold on to— compassion in any form.

"Why am I here?" I prodded carefully, questioning softly in hopes of breaking that servitude bond that seemed to hover over her.

I turned to face this girl only to watch her eyes grow a colder and more distant green before she dropped her task and walked away abruptly, leaving me to watch with horror as my one attachment to normalcy slipped away. She looked me in the eyes before closing the door, almost willing me to see the regret buried deep within its emerald depths.

"They'll send for you soon."

….

Through equally strange, hushed, and natural events I now found myself dreadfully waiting to board a train to Cherbourg, on the coast of France— or, so the crowds of waiting families murmured. I had stiffened upon hearing their distant voices, untouched and unaware of my ordeal as they spoke of beaches and time away from the heavy fog of the more recent government troubles. I blocked out the rest of their words as my captors shuffled me to a more remote area by a desolate bench.

Something about one of their arms sickeningly tight around my waist and their breath in my ear felt grossly possessive, making me feel very wary about my chances of breaking free long enough to alert anyone, along with turning my stomach quite ill.

This station was decrepit and seedy, a low-costing way out of the city for the lower class and some frugal bourgeoisie. From what I could see, very little hands of authority bothered their time with this specific area of Paris, leaving me scant hope of reaching one at all—

_Paris…_

Sweeping my hungry gaze, I gasped at what I had failed to see before when I resided in my distractedness. We had not yet left Paris at all, or its capturing view of the frosted, crowning Seine River; the thriving greenery, its beauty hardly muffled by the dust of snow; the architecture that appeared to be painted by the hands of heaven… this was home. I was nowhere near any familiar area, but, peculiarly, I still felt comforted.

Though, the feeling was temporal as I was brutally reminded by my current surroundings of my impending departure from the last wisp of tangible familiarity amongst this dizzying envelopment of the obscure future.

….

They had given me a large hat with netting to cover my face along with the plain grey dress that I had changed into, every detail now clear to its purpose of keeping me insignificant and unnoticed. I felt the fabric between my fingers, barely breathing under the early morning sun. I had caught some of the names of these men as they conversed on the platform; Nicolae, Besnik, and Yoska were with me now along with the girl that had helped me with the dress. No one spoke to her.

She would not meet my eyes.

I was not sure where the other two men had gone; they were the ones that had taken me in the first place. These three seemed to be the brains behind the operation, not ones to do the dirty work. And the girl? I knew not her name or role, but only guessed she must be one of their daughters.

Of course, now in daylight, there was no doubt that these were gypsies what with their strange accent, tanned skin, dark hair, and piercings amongst the stark difference of a fair-colored public with an air of practiced elegance. I had only heard of the Romani through stories and disgusted recounts of their vagabond ways from the bourgeoisie ladies' complaints as they roamed around the theater's splendor, swelling their noble image while making small talk. That was precisely Meg and mine's newspaper: the gossip we heard daily as we wandered insignificantly by the shadows of the older inhabitants and visitors.

_Meg… would I ever see her again? Hear her infectious laugh?_

And gypsies… they were displayed as heathens, crude thieves that traveled like nomads with their fairs and camps. They were, to my faulty knowledge, unrestrained by social norms and indulged in all of life's sins. I knew the words were harsh and generalizing, but with the first impression of cruelty that had been shown to me, I was not sure _what_ these men were capable of.

Of course, it was not that I held myself any higher; I was looked upon with almost as much disdain as an actress, an unrenowned way of life that though highly esteemed for entertainment, was never viewed with much respect from the view of the upper-class or nobles. Ironically, Raoul and I were the most unlikely couple, what with him being a Vicomte. The de Chagny family had been beside themselves upon hearing of our engagement, though never voicing their displeasure with their son's highly unforetold choice out of visibly strained respect. Raoul always told me not to pay attention to their hidden slights.

_Raoul… will I ever see those green eyes that have never failed to transport me back to those summer months by the sea? Ever feel your familiar arms around me, telling me I'm going to be alright?_

Bringing my attention back to my odd captors, I inspected that they were dressed nicely in fashionable suits, only adding to my confusion. Where had they gotten all of this money? The strange girl, as transitory as a ghost, still wore her sweeping Romani skirts that contrasted all fashion of the time, setting her apart like a harlot from her fashion-conforming escorts to uninformed spectators. She stared straight ahead, detached and unconcerned with other's thoughts as she focused fixedly on a point in the distance through the hustle and clamor around us, waiting for our means of departure.

I could see it in the distance now, growing closer with its scream of an engine. I frantically looked around me as if looking for an anchor to keep me here, something to grab hold of, no matter how hard these gypsies tried to drag me away. Nicolae caught my eye with a cool, smiling stare, daring me to try while still, concurrently holding a conversation with his partners. My pulse quickened until I knew not if I shook from the rattling boards of the railway or from my own wrenching thudding as my heart broke, straining and yearning to tie me to where I stood. What was waiting in Cherbourg?

_Erik… oh, how much I would give to be surrounded by your voice, to feel life pulsate through my veins once more, easing away all of my pain. Save me— take this all away!_

….

Once on board, Yoska, across from Besnik, seemed to stare at me as if I were a coiled snake. My horrible calm was unsettling to even myself, that was certain, but there was something else behind his eyes… just as there had been when he reacted to my intense stare by the washroom. It was not fear— he was twice my size and age, scarred from years of rough living— but, it was almost recognition… a sort of double-take at examination.

I tried focusing my thoughts away from Raoul, Erik, Meg, my father and even Madame Giry, but every time I looked out of the window, I saw another one of their ghosting images mirroring my own frantic gaze in its prisoning reflection as the scenery flew by. Panic fueled every motion, every sweep of my eyes. But, I did not move. What could anyone do for me? What would happen to myself _or _them if I happened to bring attention to my situation? I was trapped in the passenger car, sandwiched between the window and Besnik on a cold wooden bench. I was in the lion's den a hundred feet below clarity as I sat with the monstrous cats of prey!

The trio played cards as hours slipped past while watching me from the corner of their eyes. The girl sat in silence, though I could feel her stare at times. I looked out of the window, forcing myself not to make a sound. Their presence was like a shadow that shrouded me, covering my body in an infinite well of bleakness. I watched us pass Versailles, its majestic wooded hills flashing across my vision; Mantes with its gothic architecture and cobbled villages; and Caen's paralleling Orne River that ran through the historically rich buildings. Each stop of the train at the railway stations made my heart lurch with barely withheld pain as my eyes followed loads of people piling out giddily and laughing as I was only brought farther from every kindness I ever knew. I pounded on the windows in my head at each person I saw through its cruel, transparent barrier, while on the outside I only died a little more as I made the glass fog with my breath until I could see them no longer.

Maybe the most unnerving part that I had come across through observing and listening, watching the three's mannerisms…

I had yet to meet the master.

**Part two awaits…**

**A/N: To clear up time, since Christine has had no concept of it for a while: She was taken at around 4:20 am, reached her captor's house at 4:40 am, remains there until 8am, and boards the train at 8:30 am. Currently in the story she just passed Caen, the last stop before Cherbourg. The whole trip would have taken around 10 hours, though the rest of her journey will come in part two! **

**Erik realized she was taken at around 4:35 am, and by the time he got to Nadir it was about 5:10 am. Not much action yet, though the chapters will speed up after the necessary explanations of the times in between! I promise.**

**Wow, a lot of info! Hope to hear from you! Who do you think her captors are? I'd love to hear your guesses...**


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope everyone had a nice thanksgiving!**

**Raoul**

**.**

**.**

"Should you not be tending to your," Erik paused and dramatically examined the sky, "_most _urgent obligations waiting in that large estate of yours?"

I followed his sight with my own of high annoyance to the golden glow that was dusting every tree, turning the snow a molten color. His slighted words almost missed my ears as I sought to unravel the mystery of this man's capricious mind.

One minute he would be completely unresponsive, trapped in some sort of self-constructed prison, and then the next, he would make these flippant comments that, from the looks of his companion, were quite regularly expected!

Immediately my muscles tensed in a vigorous contempt like winding coils as the venom from his words seeped into my muddled brain.

"I do not enjoy any of this more highly than you do. But, please," I was desperate now, "tell me what you know, for God's sake!"

He was mocking me! The brim had been filled in the department of emotional trials and barely-tamed panic. I was left with mere exasperation mingling with my continued fervor to save my poor fiancé— both of which threatened to send me right over the edge!

And to think all of _this_ started with an innocent patronage to an opera house— an unfeeling business deal.

I laughed quite suddenly.

A maniacal laugh that sounded with the trees, the glaring snow, and my unwanted shadow as I treaded behind my odd company— the villain and the Persian deep in hushed battle plans.

Was one meant to follow this animal and his foreign acquaintance like a bothersome toad forever? Of _course_, if it meant Christine would again be near and present!

Erik turned mid-breath from some elaborate usage detailing of arsenic to cut in just as suddenly as my blithesome burst of mirth, "Do you find anything funny, Vicomte?" His cloak trailed behind him on the snow in the same manner his words did— dark and with a dangerous calm. "Anything at _all_?"

Bothered greatly by the feeling of inferiority that flooded through my veins, I spoke back to his tightly wound, volatile composure.

"What I find _funny_," I spat, "is that I stand here, ripped from my previously occupied bed, to find that my _fiancé_ has gone missing, leaving me to trail behind my loathsome enemy and his suspicious friend like a whining child while we walk to some unknown destination! That, _dear Erik_, is a matter quite comical!"

Erik's eyes had narrowed when I drew out 'fiancé', however the Persian was already there with quick and forcibly boisterous words.

"Vicomte de Chagny, how rude of me not to introduce myself! You must excuse me, for you see I had been quite busy with my misunderstood friend here. My name is Nadir Khan; I frequent the opera often, though we have never formally met."

I glanced at his proffered, charcoal-gloved hand for a moment before warily taking it, trying to understand what game we were now playing as I stared into the jade depths of his wordless eyes. His shake was firm and warm compared to the icy cold front I had been so greatly trailing behind for the past hour, calming me a degree.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Khan"

A small piece of wood seemed to click into place in my mind as I felt this encounter unravel _some_ unwanted mystery. I now knew this man by name and would let that small decency float seamlessly into my plan to uncover the rest.

Erik muttered to Nadir in a melodic flow of insults, flicking his hand with an apparent look of betrayal.

"Yes," I mumbled beneath my breath, "I believe this will work quite nicely."

**Nadir**

**.**

**.**

"Erik, retain yourself! What is the meaning of this abhorrent behavior?"

Erik stared at me with barely withheld shock before knitting his eyebrows together as he chewed on my words, testing their taste.

In a quiet and circumstance-defying air of his usual feigned placidity, his low voice reverberated in my ear like a growl.

"This man, Nadir… He took everything from me. I do not wish him dead; I have already chided myself much too deeply for my faulty soul's desperate attempt at his demise. I wish him gone. Able to live his life peacefully, far away with a respectable air-filled wife."

The words were not a threat, though they held a certain tinge of bitterness— as if this all had finally ground the shield that contained his pent emotions, letting me see through the fast-closing cracks all that I could never have witnessed at the Populaire.

The air grew noticeably colder when he spoke again, letting me in farther before the door could again shut. "I let her go, Daroga." He was almost whispering now, "I finally _saw_ and let her go— the both of them."

Raoul was close behind from what I saw out of the corner of my eye, the hunched lines of his mouth and shoulders telling me that he was indeed listening. My home lay ahead wrapped behind the spiny trees that guarded our path, though bringing attention to this would indefinitely shatter the rare moment of sentimentality.

"And she came back." I looked at him suddenly, first wondering if this was a lie meant to wound Raoul; he must know he is right behind us.

A look at his wide eyes, trapped in their own sea of torture told me quite differently— the same look I had seen in Christine's as she emerged from the corridors with Raoul last night.

"Right after she left with him, I was prepared to die. I was already dead. But, she came back just to be taken into the night! After all I put her through…" His hands tightened on Cesar's reins. "We have to find her now." His voice was quite final, a well-thought demand hanging in the air as we walked on the ever-shortening dirt path perpendicular to rue de Rivoli.

Raoul was now seething behind us, the sound mixing with the rustling of the dead leaves in the wind, "You _lie_!"

Erik turned and stopped walking, the open door of vulnerability now shut tight in place with nailed hinges.

I wiped a gloved finger to my brow, swallowing my oncoming dread. We were _this close—_ this close to finishing the world's longest journey of a short mile and a half with the world's most unlikely trio without anyone first dying.

"She would never go back to you willingly. She _feared _you. _Hated _you. If she was in your presence at all last night it was because you took her into the shadows like a masked thief!"

Erik's eyes had turned a darker shade, an ice covering the storm-stricken sea as he grabbed the Vicomte's arm in an iron grip above the elbow.

I wanted to keep walking, reaching the warm home that waited with its red door and a steaming cup of tea.

"Oh, but I didn't Vicomte. She came on her own account, alone, running from the inn back towards the cellars of who she _feared._"

Raoul had turned an alarming shade of pale, his free hand creeping to his sheathed sword ever slowly.

The air seemed to still, as if it also knew from experience that intervening would only prove disastrous. I heard myself speak, however I did not remember forming the words. "Men, we can all settle this peacefully. We have almost reached—"

"You lie. You captured and lured her there with your demonic magic! No matter that you do not have her now." Raoul growled again, though this time slightly faltering, both men either ignoring my presence or actually—frighteningly—unaware.

Dear Allah, do not let these love-blind fools kill each other right in the snow! "Let us wait to spill blood until we enter my home, shall we?"

It was futile… I was now only amusing myself. The humble abode standing across the clearing of the woods had escaped the two, both oblivious to the fact that we had already reached the end of our light-hearted stroll.

"On second thought, I have just bought new carpeting."

Erik smiled at the now drawn sword, a cold and glimmering smile, and spoke very quietly. He was almost singing, the richness of his voice momentarily lulling the dread it evoked from its intended. "You both left at my command, unharmed and free. Why would I take her back?"

The sword that landed soundlessly on a bed of snow looked as if it had fallen from the heart of its owner. I swore under my breath as I watched Raoul hurry to grab it, a soldier in battle no matter the emotions he felt.

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

Nadir's home was small with a quite sad façade to an architect's mind, though the inside oozed of rich colors and Persia— an abundance of Persia. There were glass-blown vases full of blooming Persian Buttercups, rich in their color of wine and mauve; scarlet and gold tapestries draping softly from the ceiling, curtaining rooms in colorful shadows; and his feline friend that he managed to take with him from the foreign land.

A twinge of guilt shook me from the sight, not having seen it in quite some time. It was a man's nostalgic attempt to recreate an echo of his homeland—one, that my own friendship took him from.

I reclined stiffly in a throne-styled chair, meeting the crystal blue eyes of a now awake and glowering cat. It mewed its protest before prancing away to resume its nap elsewhere.

"And to think I was a likeable man!"

Raoul sniffed loudly from the far corner he stood in before bringing the cup of tea to his imperious mouth, conversing lightly with Nadir.

Oh, Nadir, why does that man always have to be so _civil_?

I had stopped myself with great effort back in those perfectly discreet woods, my feral interests never conversing much with morality being my reasoning behind such little control.

My fingers had itched to grab and wring Raoul's insolent neck and finish what had been left undealt until clarity had crept in, like the thief he so claimed me to be, reminding me that Christine would be quite disturbed to hear that her fiancé had died at the hands of her savior. Also, as pretentiously daft as he was, the boy had no reason to believe that Christine had come back to the opera house willingly.

The thought of seeing her slim, heavenly figure at all would astound oracles and gamblers alike had they been asked to foresee the chances.

Unwanted memories and images flooded into my mind, lethal to my waning focus as they submerged my clockwork mind in waters as murky as my lake.

The plan. I needed to _plan. _

Christine, an avenging angel standing at the bedside demanding all that she deserved…

Her trembling fingers and quivering knees as she fought against the soulless storm I had instilled in her…

Those eyes that spoke much more than words ever could decipher…

_Who did this to her?_

I grabbed my knees tensely, feeling my heart ripping from its withering cage.

The fault was mine to claim— I should never have left her. _I should never have done any of the deeds that led up to all of this._

The need to destroy had been my downfall, playing its hand at wiping clean all that was good and kind as the dagger of jealousy and blindness pierced my soul.

All I had learned from just _talking _to her…

My stomach clenched and I glanced back at my fair-haired enemy, his face pulled in distraught as he gripped a table side.

He was in no means going to leave any time soon.

Even if I must suppress every moment of murderous hate, tolerating the most horrid existence of Raoul during the infinite carpet of time that lay between Christine and my blackened, persistent soul…

I would endure it all. Enough time had passed at the hands of distractions and the mindless noise of my own hate-filled musings.

Fate would _not _prevail in its infernal games any longer.

"Come, both of you— we have methods to discuss."

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

The rumbling and screeching sounds of the train had grown habitual, a horrid melody to guide my sinking thoughts in their fall. Smells of cigar smoke filled my nose and every pore with a raspy, scraping fragrance as the voices around me seemed to blur to a whisper, an odd feeling pulling at the back of my head.

Someone was watching me. I could _feel _it.

I turned my view very slowly to the left, my nose tickling the netting on my hat, and peered behind Besnik and Nicolae's broad shoulders and oily hair to see a curious young man exactly one row behind me and diagonal on the left side of the aisle. He wore a brimmed black hat that shadowed golden hair curling back to  
>the nape of his neck and a look of blatant interest as he sat turned away from his own company, only his chin angled to them as his brown eyes flicked up to meet my own with a peculiar stare.<p>

My disappointment was unwarranted… as was any anticipation. Who did I _expect _it to be? This was no storybook ending. Solitude still surrounded me in a cape, whispering its taunts.

I was only an appealing silhouette to a delirious man bored on the endless ride, the falling sun adding a dash of boldness— nothing more

There were times that I would have grown excited over the interests of such a refined-looking gentleman at the opera. Meg and I would always pretend to pick out suitors, kneeling near the banisters and giggling behind our cascades of curls as we looked below at the oncoming hordes of the audience for that night's performance. Madame Giry would always find us with a scornful cluck of her tongue and scoot us away. The pastime had slowly waned when a certain man entered and forever altered my life.

_A certain angel…_

I turned away quickly and looked back through the frost in the window, breathing shallow little breaths as an onslaught of memories tried to rush their way under the barrier I had erected around my mind.

An idea struck slowly through the cloud of helplessness, demanding its trial.

My three captors remained engrossed in their gambling games and I met the boy's eyes again, this time forcing a coy smile.

He tilted his lips slowly in reply and brought his head down in greeting, his hat shadowing elegant features in the movement.

A gulp of breath aided me as I slowly brought my finger to my lips, my eyes now solemnly staring into his own.

Yoska snapped his gaze up from his hand of cards and studied me while I pretended to adjust the netting of my hat, finishing my gesture of silence to the boy only when I was no longer being watched by suspicion.

Upon the unspoken question on the gentleman's frowning lips I gestured my head ever so slightly and softly towards my acquaintances. He nodded once and I turned again to the window, certain he was still watching.

I drew quietly on the area behind my head and away from view of my captors, should they have looked, with the tip of my finger on the silky ice.

This was it— a way that I might finally be able to contact someone.

Only having carved out the letters 'H', 'E', and 'L', Besnik's arm wrapped itself around the bottom of my back, sending a repulsive chill up my spine. He dug his fingers into the side of my waist, pushing hard against to bone of my hip, and I grit my teeth to stop the small cry that had tried to escape. He released his bruising hold right after I let my hand drop back down to my side. "You mustn't draw on the windows, dear! You wouldn't want to leave oils from your fingers, would you?"

He laughed lightly and I felt revulsion pinch in my stomach tightly, his hand worming back to his cards.

A look in his eyes, almost feral in its wordless threat, drew out a statement of my own.

"You're right," I croaked, holding a hand over my throbbing hip, "I was not thinking."

A satisfied smile lingered by my ear as I turned back to the window, seeing also a flash of what could only be pity in the eyes of the nameless girl.

The frost cleared with a slow wipe of my sleeve and I again glued my eyes to the passing sights, watching darkness begin to cloak every tree and outline the clouds with my head leaning on the icy glass.

A complaining lady behind me mumbled about the time, the words just barely catching my apprehensive ears.

"It is already 6pm… we've been on this train for nearly ten hours already!"

_6pm…_

_10 hours away from the dormitory and my little white bed beside Meg's… or the smell of fresh bread greeting my nose each morning… the mysterious energy in the air of the opera house which would never fail to enter my dreams… away from every small detail I grew to expect each day._

The remainder of the ride passed in my continued silence as the string that held me to all I loved strained tighter and tighter.

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

I did feel a modicum of guilt at the fact that Raoul stood with an incomplete tale boiling in his mind— Christine had only come for answers— though, the rush of satisfaction trumped. I would tell him eventually… after he had time to let his imagination fester cruelly until it had spewed its infinite possibilities…

The look on his face so mirrored what I had felt behind the statue of the winged horse on that snowy roof, watching him and Christine sing words of love… when she had approached me in wonderment at the Bal Masque with her own look of endearment before giving me the perfect view of a cold band of metal resting on a chain, or when his command to deceive echoed through Christine's shaking hand that had torn off my mask onstage. He deserved to feel betrayed, if only for a little while.

That ring… she had given it back to me. Any logic of why escaped me dearly, though I kept it now in an inner pocket on my vest, right above my adrenaline-thumping heart.

It was 7:40 am and the train station shone with morning sun upon the blinding white of snow. Nadir had found a train scheduled to leave at eight to Tourlaville, on the outskirts of Cherbourg. From there we would catch the first steamship available to reach America.

Raoul sat on a bench abruptly, his tawny hair brushing forward into his face so only the white air of jagged breath was visible.

A smirk wickedly tugged at the side of my mouth and, with a twist on my heel, I walked toward where groups of people stood and waited for the next ship.

My left side faced them all while the right remained hidden under the shadow of my hat as I stood on the fringes of the crowd, circling slowly and repeatedly going through the crafted plan in my head to stay focused, the minutes passing painfully slow. The mask I wore was meant for night. Though the color almost matched my skin, the cream gleam it gives in light would only escape a fool. Paranoia crept in and I eyed every person as if they were hunting me, looking for my deformity, or seeing through my attire to the scars beneath. Breathing became jagged and the initial purpose of finding Nadir began to less important and all the more threatening.

The people jeered and laughed, every smiling face and shout making my shoulders flinch inwardly, as I had done as the boy in the cage. No one was even looking in my direction, but their images swirled like a carousel around me until I felt myself sink to the wet cobbled stones that turned to a dirt floor in my mind as the weight of their prying eyes dragged me down. I felt Javert cackle in my ear and beat me senseless with a rod until I no longer knew if I actually belonged to that throbbing body. Oh, how they would scream when he ripped the rough burlap from my face…

My mind flew back to reality when I felt a tap on my tight shoulder, discovering that it was only Nadir telling me that the train was ready to board. The world around me was back to its white, cold, and distant image as opposed to the dark, rusting cage outlined by a dirt red carnival tent that had felt so real… My looming shadow— one that had _not _crouched to the floor as I so realistically imagined— followed me as I pulled my fedora farther over the right side of my face, slinking to the end of the crowd piling onto the train and into their shadows.

No matter that this was a remote area of Paris; I was a wanted man and the white of the glaring snow seemed hell-bent on revealing me to anyone that had already heard the news— or even attended the opera itself when I sent the chandelier crashing and swept away their songbird after having my abhorrent face put on show.

_Christine…_

Nadir furtively slipped a bag of francs to the conductor while Raoul stopped himself just before he could give his usual noble nod as he met my disapproving stare. We had made him change into plainer clothes and also gave him a hat to shadow his face, though the Vicomte would be recognized quite easily in our barely clandestine group: the masked fugitive, the blatant foreigner, and the titled and sociable patron to Paris' Opera house.

We needed to make it out of France unnoticed or the plan would crumble and blow away with the wind taking Christine's safety along with it.

Every detail we wore of our plain and gray clothes was meant to keep us insignificant, to artistically draw someone's eyes away and towards vibrancy.

….

Ten hours later, after a stiff and suffocating trip spent by keeping my head at a precarious angle from all public, a trip where I _willed _the train to reach its destination even faster, it was 6 pm and we had reached Tourlaville.

….

The sea air tickled my nose as the water lapped in the darkness on the port's docks, my mask feeling slick against my face in the wet, cold air.

I breathed heavily at the lazily crashing waves, staring into the distance that blurred the sky and ocean into oblivion.

Was she somewhere on these dark waters?

The prospect of her trapped at sea, the voyage never-ending like her falling hopes of any savior…

This trans-Atlantic trip would take a week at _least_.

A _week _of her oblivious to our rescue.

The dark was comforting, the sun's slip into the earth calming my breaths with each shade of dimming grey into its painted indigo.

Amidst the dark symphony around me I bent down to sit on a mossy bench, losing myself in the white noise of lover's reluctant farewells… of children clinging to a father's leg, or hiding their tears in their mother's skirts.

Handkerchiefs were thrown while merry hollers of safe travels mixed with the cacophony of sounds from the deep, rumbling of the ship's horn and stamping of feet on the loading dock.

_Loved ones…_

The hole in my heart pulled, urging me to peer into it and remember who I was. Many emotions were felt for me: strange bouts of beguilement towards my created mystery, fear, hatred, pity, grudging respect, curiosity… never love.

The strong lure of that one forbidden feeling, one that I will never deserve, had been filled with life by the breath of an angel— a cruel temptress of an angel. With Christine, I had experienced a taste of sensations I never thought possible, ones I believed I had to manipulate to receive. Fleeting moments of true reciprocation had struck me dumb— whisperings of confused words in the chapel, the look of longing at the Bal Masque, the passion she displayed in my opera, her kiss, the ring she gave back, those strange moments of hesitation, her innocent return to me, those moments she cried over why everything had gone wrong… it was all there to toy with my mind in her wicked games, spinning with the hate and betrayal so blatant to all who witnessed!

Should love be so cunning and cruel to escape those unwilling to even fathom the thought?

It could only be pity and regret dressed in their finest silken hope leading me to the center of a bridge where they had already ruthlessly unhinged the boards. I would never know, for that was the point of the two's deceit.

That hope was the evil force that causes one to lay awake making sense of scattered evidence, leaving them to flounder until they finally do fall into the darkness of reality

Though, all she had said last night in my shadowy caves...

Deceitful love or cushioned hatred— it did not matter. Not even death would silence my need to protect her.

The warning shot of a gun announcing soon departure rattled me to awareness. I looked up hastily, but remembered that England was that ship's destination.

Nadir, moving to sit by me on the bench, spoke in his gentle accent and pushed through my dismal mood like water, always somewhat prone to knowing my moods, "We will find your Christine. I promise you that just as I had vowed to leave France with you."

"Daroga, how on _Earth_ have you put up with me all of these years?"

He stroked his chin before leaving his hand there, his eyes smiling on a serious face, "patience— a quality which you do not possess."

"I am a very patient man!" I scowled back to his smirk before the echo of my own words shot forward.

_Try my patience… make your choice._

"Then, oh patient Erik, you will not mind waiting three hours for the next ship to arrive at nine?"

My head snapped forward as the thought of three hours settled in my mind on top of the nightmare that had re-formed. Three hours… much can happen in three hours.

"Yes. I mind— to hell with patience." Nadir chuckled before spreading his hands in surrender.

"There _is _another port nearby… Cherbourg. If we find a carriage and take it West along the coast we could reach it in about a half hour. With its ideal location in the bowl of the peninsula, ships pour out by the hour. We should have better luck there."

"_Luck. _Luck is the guest late to this dinner party, is he not? Him and his friend, timing, are quite horrid in social etiquette." I hissed between my teeth before closing my eyes, willing the anger to drain from my veins. "Tell me, did you memorize a map of France for fun?"

"One_ does_ have to kill time somehow between each of your antics, my friend."

After glaring at a bothersome Persian, I leapt up with new fervor to outwit fate and patted my arsenal of a cloak.

"Where are you going?" Raoul questioned with a tinge of annoyance.

I countered tersely, wishing to rid myself of this burden with my continued vagueness, "To another port. Feel free to leisurely wait the three hours for this ship."

He grimaced, his features angular in the dark as he stared onto the empty sea in contemplation.

My eye caught movement behind on the street and I turned just in time to see a gentleman helping a woman out of a black carriage. They walked away, though the stagecoach remained leaning against the steps, pulling a glinting flask from his vest.

The Vicomte stood still in defiance while Nadir, having caught my stare, and I strode with purpose to the brougham's beckoning invite.

The plump man looked up, his eyes widening in expected shock to see my mask. Any words of reserve or reluctance about the trouble he would meet from veering away from his paying customer fell off his lips as I slapped a generously-sized amount of francs into his thick, grimy palm. Nadir and I piled into the dark interior, the window giving me a perfect view of Raoul's flash of fear as I closed the door.

He glared at me with shadowed eyes before he rushed over, the green of them flicking down to the steps of the carriage he climbed.

"Bring us to the port at Cherbourg," Nadir called to the driver.

Raoul's unmarred face abruptly struck a chord as I watched from the dark, throwing his roll into my mess of musings— those arms holding Christine tight on the roof, his lips claiming hers, his gentle words poisoning her mind, his martyred pleas for her to let him die rather than marry a monster.

My stare bore harshly at his silhouetted figure, a sour taste filling my throat in disgust as I watched him pull open the door to step in. Turning my voice down low in his ear, I leaned forward and growled my threat, "Keep in mind that there will be no one to reach you should you die on this journey. Do _not _cross me." Simple words, though they held their weight.

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

The sea was cool and unaware, crashing in its own rhythmic sway as hovering people above threw their romance to hide the solemnity of long travels and absences like velvet over rough rocks.

The intense massiveness of the steamship stared me down like a scolded child, shrinking me to a speck of dust beneath the gleam of its thick, turning wheels as it remained solid against the angry thrashes of frosted waves. Seamen bustled about, tending to the passenger's baggage, and earnestly calling out sea terms that grew lost in the roaring wind.

To a first-timer, the spectacle of lights, sounds, and complete and utter looming vastness was mind-halting— a passing distraction. I _had_ traveled by sea as a young girl from Sweden to Germany with my father, though the foggy memory was missing pieces from the destruction of time. To face nose-to-nose with a ship of this style and imposing stature amidst the deafening raucous of the public was both exciting and very frightening!

I stood very still on the loading dock while closing my eyes and breathing in the salty tang of the air as an icy wind blew through the thin material of the day dress, my chin raising up to the starry sky. The wrap I had been given might as well have been made of frost for all of the warmth it provided, merely trapping the cold beneath its rough material. Though, I should be grateful that my captors hadn't carted me around in a cargo box or whatever other burden-free accommodation they wished to from the looks of their annoyed faces.

_What was waiting in America?_

This winter was bitter, the turbulent emotions of it matching my own in its quarry with all it encountered. My teeth chattered as if being summoned from my very thoughts, my entire body in vicious protest. How much could I endure before my health suffered?

One who boarded at an opera house… well they would very rarely leave the warm confinement of the interior, colors of gold and red swirling inside while a blue winter bounced harmlessly off of the stone façade.

….

Once on the deck of the steamship, like a bitter tonic to my mind, I _felt _love around me: the poignant farewells, wives putting up brave fronts as their loved ones left the dock, friends merrily exchanging pleasantries, passionate promises, solemn embraces…

My lips trembled, having nothing to do with the chill.

Yoska was fingering a tarnished pocket watch, flipping the cover open and then back to close with a click, and I tentatively turned towards him and spoke in a scratchy voice, my throat sore from the wind, "What time is it?"

He peered at me for a moment before answering. "It is 6:50. Expecting someone?" The laugh that followed was cruel, echoed by Nicolae and Besnik.

A gun shot sounded at the end of their mirth and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The gypsy girl wandered closer to my side, "I was told it means the ship is leaving." She tucked her hair behind her ear and gripped the railing to stare into the green water under the glow of the ship's bright lanterns.

_Leaving._

My eyes went frantic as I too gripped the cold railing, a mocking allusion to when I had done so on the inn's balcony when my only worry was for answers, and searched the hordes of people on the docks.

Nameless faces, painted lips, tear-stained cheeks, shadowed silhouettes, the orbs of the lanterns on posts revealing hats and cloaks and a glint of a mask…

The noise around me silenced in my mind as my knees weakened and my eyes widened, curls of my hair burning them as they whipped out of their chignon from the wind.

Was I dreaming?

A figure tall and strong stalked with lethal grace through the walls of the crowd, unnatural and donning a dark cloak that crowned each of his movements.

But, was it real? Surely hope and fatigue were to blame!

A deep horn blared, cutting through my ears.

I shook my head and looked back, the man now gone.

_What a fool I was, a child wishing for a cure to her nightmare. _

My gaze swept back to the docks, scornful towards the deceiving dark playing with my mind, and was caught by the piercing wander of two unmistakable blue eyes and raven black hair glistening under the wavering light of the posts and moon; he was much closer than before.

_Erik _was closer.

How did he— I was so far from Paris. How could he have possibly known where I would be!

A mirage… it was a mocking mirage spurred by my dread to leave France— must be!

I squeezed my eyes tight, wishing the cruel hope away.

A black-gloved hand, a slow and pacing stride, the curl of a lip in deep thought… all were brought to mind-startling clarity as a rich and very low voice broke through the garish sounds and whispered to my ears in the wind, forcing my eyes to open and look. The words were lost, but the sound grew and cut through the air like a knife as he strode closer to the edge of the docks, away from a foreign-looking man and to a more desolate area… and much closer to the area of the ship's railing I held onto with my life.

I opened my mouth to yell, but the roaring sounds around me were deafening along with the vicious bodies hovering near my back, their presence felt like a touch of silencing fingers- ones I could not pry away.

What if the touch became tangible, whisking me from the deck before he could see me?

He needed to see me!

I lifted my hand up to the netting on my hat and moved it away to reveal my face fully in what I hoped was a natural movement to those behind me, my eyes never leaving Erik's passing gaze. He was searching.

_Erik _was searching! A knot unwound in my stomach as I thought the words, a burst that slightly mollified my dread... even if only for a little while.

He had found me here, but America... America is a land more vast and unknown than the depths of the ocean beneath this steamship.

_Look at me, _Erik. _Dear God, _look at me!

Without warning, he went rigid as his eyes finally locked on mine.

Tears streamed down my cheeks in release towards the sadness I had been swallowing, his image seen like a swirling reflection through the water that pooled in my eyes.

My feet tried to move forward as the sobs became more wrenching, my fingers gripping the railing tighter in punishment towards the jail that prevented me from reaching dry ground.

Erik nodded his head earnestly and softly, a fiercely determined look settling over his features.

Fingers enclosed on my wrist tightly and swiftly, bringing into awareness for the first time the girth that spread steadily between the wooden docks and the ship. Water rippled in angry currents as the crowds jostled around me and drank, sang, retired to a dining hall, completely _oblivious _in their regularity.

I did not try to rake my hand away, only shrunk deeper into my mind as I let the night blur all except for twin, pained eyes, horribly dangerous even as the ship drew farther and farther away.


	8. Chapter 8

**I would like to formally apologize for the wait for this chapter! I had all the intentions of finishing it much earlier than usual, but then my computer so sweetly decided to obtain a virus that prevented me from using it for more than five minutes without it needing to turn off… But, enough of my hopelessness with technology. It's late, it's late, but here I give you chapter 8. *curtain rises***

**Erik**

**.**

**.**

"Daroga, were we supposed to be on this ship? It is going to America."

The landing stages were being dragged into place, locking every passenger onto the steam's lower deck as I walked swiftly through the crowd with Nadir.

"No," he breathed as he fought to keep up, "we never would have made it here in time to bribe our way on board. It is only 6:50, another ship is due to arrive soon after this one departs from what I checked on that board. Apparently all of Europe wishes to reach America!"

The night was kind to my mask so long as I stayed away from the glow of the lamps, though the only sure darkness paved for me was in the comforting unlit corridors back at the opera house. It was imminent to weave in and out of this light no matter my paranoia, passing prying people and a particularly long glance from a man sitting on a bench.

My steps were soundless as they drew to the edge of the cobbled landing and halted, peering at the steps leading down to a large dock below where onlookers practically glued themselves to the side of the ship as they said their farewells. Moonlight glinted off of that glossy surface of the ship, wrapping around its exterior while the glow of its equally-spaced lamp lights threw a warm orange color against the royal blue of the evening sky. The ship was quite masterfully crafted with three levels of decks and I inspected each crevice and railing, curiously inching down the few steps, the soft music playing to entertain streaming into my ear. I nodded sideways towards Nadir in vague acknowledgement, distracted fully by the strange painting I stood in of indigo, orange, and white while also subconsciously imagining what instruments I would use to duplicate the melancholy and fervor of the scene around me. The ship's horn accompanied with erupting trumpets, the wind mimicked with harps, frantic steps becoming the eager slide of a bow on violin strings, an organ's chords portraying the controversy of dreading anticipation hovering in the air, the warning shot now heard around me coming to life with a bang of a drum and the lingering clap of cymbals…

Life's _most _favorite irony seemed to be showing my mind beauty before any other emotion could settle on top of the enthrallment, displaying all I could cherish and share if I had been born normal and untainted. Nadir's presence hung next to me, his companionship unhelpfully crowding my dismal thoughts with its persistence to keep me away from damaging my soul or whatever else he feared was running through my mind. My fingers clenched a cold railing and I dismissed him and his compassionate motives with a small wave of a gloved hand. For once, I needed to be alone.

"I would go find the Vicomte if I were you. He has most likely found his reflection in the water and decided to stay back and admire it. I fear he might have fallen in." My voice was dry as I glanced back at him, the sarcasm running off of my tongue with all the familiarity of a river's ingrained path.

Nadir sighed and shook his head, walking off to find Raoul— wherever that boy was— and leaving me to my own agenda of distractions. Now on the main dock, the exposed feeling had returned and I pulled the hat farther down on the right side. I needed to be alone, away from the normal noise of normal lives.

My head hastily whipped to my left and saw another path sprouting from this hub of activity, this one barely lit and entirely beckoning.

It was a jutting dock that hugged the side of the landing's wall in its descent, a few men smoking and conversing on the first couple planks, but far too rotten or faulty for the weak-hearted to walk down the entirety when the rush of ice waters beneath their feet sprayed a threatening mist between the boards. No matter, I walked over the dingy warning rope and right down to the edge of it, content with my sadly comforting solitude like a rat scurrying to darkness.

The warm opera house had neglected to spread its glow to my dark corridors attached just as now, the lights stopping where no one else dare go.

Particularly rough waves lapped at my shoes, but I remained still and let my gaze wander outwards over the lingerers by the railing that trimmed the edge of the lowest deck. These were the ones staying out in the cold to watch the sights. They were too far away, even for my sight that saw night better than day. I glanced around me at the dark waters and isolation once more, as if fulfilling some inbred need in my soul, before beginning the trek back up the creaking wooden path, my eyes never leaving those onboard.

Among the foolish was a man standing and smiling lovingly to the wide and crowded dock that was growing closer with each of my steps, though more than one woman dabbed a tear from their eye before clutching the handkerchief to their hearts. A bitter laugh pitched itself in my throat as I pictured those wretched girls crying with the callous cloth under a pillow as they waited for their virtuous gentleman to come back to them. At the rails was also a small group of older men gazing at the stars, presumably pointing out constellations with the bursts of excitement from their aged fingers.

A child glanced at me from the dock and I turned away quickly, melding into the shadows on the cemented wall by my side. Once no longer noticed, I continued to creep up and closer to the ship.

On the side of the ship nearest to where I stood, there were only several women at the metal railing; most must have been too weak to stand the cold much longer or too dutiful to stray from an impatient husband.

The two nearest me were closer now as my steps inched nearer to population. Curious boredom factored my gaze's mechanical scrutiny, sweeping the ship for anything to chase my mind's perilous descent during my walk's ascent. The dark dock connected back to the populated pier and I squinted as glowing lights sprayed into my vision. With a swivel onto it, my feet scaled the edge, arms and dresses brushing my sleeve, one misstep away from dropping into the rolling ocean below. My eyes never left the ship; I needed to be closer.

One of the two… she was clutching the railing as she faced me. In fact, her knuckles were quite white against the black of the sky. She wore a hat with netting that covered almost her entire face, though I unnervingly felt her stare through it. My finger twitched against the silk grey folds of the cummerbund around my waist. The other girl was looking out at the dark waters, only showing her profile as she stood away from the hovering, distorted shadows that bustled about behind the other passengers on the fringes of the deck. She wore the attire of a gypsy, plain, though not unlike some costume designs I had drawn for Aminta. A chord in my heart yanked itself tight and I looked away quickly. The elderly gentlemen and their old bones retired to the interior of the ship. The well-dressed man was pulled inside by a friend and away from his many female lovers as well.

_Distractions. I was distracting myself._

The one woman facing me pulled the net away from her face, drawing my eyes back to her from the movement of her pale hand against a dark sky.

_One small movement._

Water seemed to flood from below from the sudden lack of a solid dock beneath my feet, my stomach giving the cruelest of aches.

Questions erupted as did any logic or reason as to how this coincidence was created— a cruelty or a blessing… I could not decipher. Perhaps, it was both.

My entire body went as rigid as stone, each muscle locking into place, while one name reverberated around my skull, dizzying as the world around me finally flooded back into focus like a rush of cold water behind my eyes.

_Christine._

_To see her, a blessing to a damned man._

The moon glinted off each of her features; the bend of the dress at her waist, the sleeve at her elbow below a thin wrap, the curve of her lips. She was shivering violently.

_A cruelty that I could not reach her… so close and I could not reach her._

Her eyes bore into mine as glistening tears slid down her cheeks, her mouth parted in anguish— the brown eyes and pink mouth I had thought never to see again.

_She is alive… alive and unharmed._

She leaned forward— _Christine_ leaned forward— her face appearing both pained and relieved at the sight of me. My heart lurched at the perception of her showing such broken emotion until a knot was tied in my throat. Her body was a book and the many words spoke of agony.

_She may not have been harmed physically—_

But, what of her reaction towards seeing me? My presence was rarely cherished. Why would it evoke any feelings in her at all?

_Are you only thankful that someone knows where you are, Christine? Grateful that now I can send word to your precious fiancé to come and find you?_

Of course she was. _Relief_? After all that I had done to her, relief could never be logically attributed as an emotion towards me.

The Opera Ghost destroyed while the humble patron salvaged.

_Why_ did I leave her alone? She could have found Antoinette with me, safe by my side where I could have protected her.

_My finger sliding along her cheek, the warmth that left the air as I began to walk away from her, footsteps echoing, my mindless and completely senseless wander around the entirety of the opera house…_

The ship spurred to life, the sound far away and distant as I kept my eyes on a pair as black as midnight under the night sky, my throat impossibly tight. Her shaking frame, the curve of her shoulders were all seen blurred around the eyes I focused on, her gaze cutting into me as painful as her beauty…

Who knew that ghost could be so readily battered down by just the sheer sight of Christine Daae?

She needed hope—reassurance. I _would_ reach her and she needed to know that. Hell, that look she gave was enough to wipe my mind of any of its usual calculating tactics, the ones I would be using at current to figure how to get onto that damned ship.

I was left contentedly trapped in that helpless stare, coveting the sight of her looking back at me without fear or pity or hatred. It was a look of utter need and distress and, no matter the betrayed past or the hopeless future, I would save her as if I were her sole reliant in the matter.

She would not suffer in the drowning pool of impotence— not if I had any hand in the matter.

My head nodded— though it at first was to confirm my own resolve—towards Christine, projecting every soundless promise towards her past the howling wind, the deafening noise, and the gap of water between the ship and the docks that had begun to widen slowly.

Only once did the relieved rise and fall of her shoulders occur before I moved my eyes slightly to watch a shadow of a hand wind itself roughly around her thin wrist. The day's harrowing events were raw and I honed in on the man emerging from the shadows with murderous eyes, taking in his large form with grasping vigor as he peered over Christine's shoulder and broke into the sphere of a lamp's dull glow.

_Where else had those hands gone?_

Christine's speculation was felt like needles though I was tracing the outline of the man with my own, my fingers touching the rope in my cloak. He melted back into the shadows and released her arm, the view of him fleeting and lacking far too much in clarity for any identifiable characteristics.

It was strange, staring at the one you loved drifting away into the starry night full of perils unknown as you could only stand and watch.

It was strange to have the woman who should fear you, no matter her claims _one_ wistful night ago, seem to beg for you to reach her.

It was strange to be replaced as the monster by a shadow… one whose vague features seemed to stare for far too long.

Steel hardened my veins as the scarlet red of blood filled my vision. I would kill anyone who stood in my way, mowing down thousands to reach the one human capable of saving me. The simplicity of that statement brought me back to a time where my train of thought had been parallel to this one— a time in a cellar where I planned to rule my kingdom and obtain my queen. A game of love and jealousy, though this one, of life and death, was far more lethal.

My eyes returned from the dark place they had disappeared to as they focused again on Christine's unwavering and completely capturing stare.

I watched the stars in her glinting eyes as the ship sailed on, thinking how unfortunate one would be to ever lay a hand on _my Christine._

Just saying her name in my head scratched away the part of the black that imprisoned my mind, drawing out sweet clarity along with my thoughts from the deep abyss of self-hatred they seemed to always bury themselves in. She would be my redemption. No one would touch that. As long as Christine Daae lived, my soul would.

A spot in the distance was all that remained of the ship, the onlookers having already trailed back up the steps to the landing and the town beyond, and I stood in a dangerous, darkening silence.

**Raoul**

**.**

**.**

The little beach was only a short walk down a hill next to the landing. I had not been able to stand the presence of Erik any longer after what I had learned about last night, slipping away silently to find my own area to think. Small sailboats docked here, though they swayed lifelessly with the lap of the waves. I was alone.

My shoe sawed against the jagged, splintered dock as I kicked at its edge, peering into waters as black and reflecting as obsidian. Light played on the slow waves in distorted swirls, the stars dotting the blanket of mirrors in this area of a lower tide, the sheet of it softly billowing, an odd otherworld of the sky painted on the surface of the sea. Distant sounds of hoots and horns lazily reached my ears, but where I stood every sound seemed as if it were submerged in liquid— garbled and odd. A steamship in the far distance drifted towards the docks like a moth to light, though nothing disturbed the waters where I stood. The only rocks or ice or noises were those in my turning mind.

Why was I here?

Christine left. _Left_ as if running into the winter night was a more pleasant option than to stay in the safe inn with her fiancé. I scoffed, kicking a spray of broken shells into the water. _Fiancé_. Did that word even have any levity? Or, perhaps it was only a title— one with all the emotion of monsieur or mademoiselle.

She was _safe _with me and my many plans on how we could spend the rest of our life _safe. _The man in the shadows that had haunted her sleepless nights, restless dreams, mirthless eyes… He would be far away, and we would start anew.

But, she ran back to that murdering man— the one she despised. The one who manipulated and terrorized an entire opera house.

The one she kissed as if she were dying.

A piercing pain entered my temples and I winced, walking the couple steps off of the dock to sit on a rusted bench.

_Safe. _

Were any of us safe? The world hides all kinds of surprises to ambush us at the moments we feel most secure.

_Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. _

Once, on a particularly cold night at my family's estate, only a few weeks after the disaster at Il Muto, I had found Christine on one of the window's balconies. She only wore a thin day dress and her hair whipped in an icy wind that drafted over to where I stood. A distant look had etched itself into every line of her from the moment I took her with me away from the dangers of the Populaire. It would appear most prominent when she thought no one was looking, though even in her happiest moments something had been different. After a week, she would rarely smile and, when she would, it would be strained and polite. There was something changed in her eyes… colder. So, I stood quietly and watched her at that balcony. Suddenly, she had turned to the side, still unaware of my presence, looking at the lights beyond from a different view. Her eyes had then closed and a smile lit up her features as she leaned her face in the wind. Her arms then had wrapped around her body in a little embrace, though she did not shiver from the air. Growing uncomfortable, I had lightly tapped on the open window, clearing my throat.

_Lotte, you are going to catch your death. I can have someone bring you tea after you come back in._

She had opened her eyes quickly, the smile fading and her arms falling. The strange look had returned in her eyes.

If any realization was met, it was that the smile was not reserved for any thought of me.

The next morning I had asked if she would like to return to live at the opera, waiting for her reaction. A letter from Firmin had assured me that there had been no more sign of the Phantom.

The light had returned to her eyes like a soul rejoining its body.

My observations were small, but I searched for them. I do not believe even she knew how cold she had appeared to my family during her stay.

Of course, their disdain for her had only grown, leaving me to answer to endless complaints about the shifty and unladylike behavior of actresses while declining infinite suggestions of _suitable _girls for the de Chagny name.

_My family…_

As their image swelled in my head, I felt myself turn a shade paler. They would be looking for me and Christine having read in the papers the headlining news of the great fire at the Populaire. Quite loudly.

My God.

With haste I walked back to the landing and searched for someone, anyone, writing with parchment perhaps, or even a store nearby.

_Who brought parchment and ink to the sea at night?_

They would search everywhere with gendarme as discreet as a stomping elephant, ruining the plans my own enemy had made and sliding my head through a noose's loop once more. Erik had been very adamant that no contact was to be made with others until we had left France. Though the words were generally spoken, they had pierced my ear with deliberation. But, I was not certain he would care to hear of a de Chagny-led search.

Other than writing to keep our journey under a curtain for obvious safety and time reasons, I needed to assure my family that I was well. That Christine was well. There was nothing they despised more, other than what my father called my 'disgraceful' taste in women, was our name in the public's eye for reasons they deemed an embarrassment or a scandal. Our name would be laced with Christine's abduction should it be discovered. Gossip circled quickly through the opera house and then out onto the Parisian streets like clockwork. All they would see was a missing phantom and disappearing soprano.

The hysteric shrill of a laugh burst from my throat.

The ways to twist that to the nearest newspaper looking for a scandal were infinite. My father would find it an atrocity that all of Paris would know I was engaged to someone who lived in a world where such filthy crimes were common, not that her life was on the line. He was an honorable and compassionate man, but pride was his sustenance— the air he breathed.

I understood the need for furtiveness. It was imperative to reach them and put out the fire before it could blaze. Come up with a reason to delay the wedding… which was only a month away. Their concern over my absence would be made public, for our involvement in matters held all the subtlety of the color red.

Finally, after turning and searching through circling colors, two children moved aside to reveal a bench on the landing where a man sat, writing on his lap with one leg lain casually on his knee to rest his parchment on.

I glanced around, making sure neither Nadir nor Erik lurked close by, and then approached the man. Pulling a small pouch of francs from my vest—some that I had taken from Nadir's luggage lest the moment arises when I would find myself abandoned in a foreign country, the chances of which being quite probable— I explained my predicament and asked if he might be able to send a letter for me. The man was kind and let me use his materials. The letter was short, assuring my family that I was only taking Christine out of France for a while to see the sights and get her mind off of all that had recently entailed in the Populaire.

We would be back before the wedding, I had written.

Folding it neatly and swiftly, I handed the lone writer the money and letter, thanking him dearly, and standing up. "The de Chagny estate," he mused with a small smile, staring at the address on the front of the fold before boldly giving the contents a once-over, "a large address for a common fellow such as yourself." I gave him a peculiar stare, as if not understanding, though I knew it was transparent. He chuckled at my expression while staring at my plain attire.

"Monsieur," my voice came out forced; what business did he have in reading a private letter? Though, I suppose the arrangement was rather un-businesslike to start. "_Monsieur_, please, you must not tell anyone of my whereabouts."

Time was ticking. The ship was docking. One of the two would come and find me soon.

"You mustn't worry, Vicomte." He spoke with a teasing exasperation and my ears cringed at the volume he spoke my title. Too many people were near to catch it. "I am but a bored and curious old man, searching for the interesting and the strange. Why do you think I write at this port? You would be surprised to hear all I have witnessed."

I nodded my head, uncomfortable with the way he spoke, his eyes glinting with knowledge.

"Excuse my asking, but have we met before?"

"Ah, I do not believe we have. But, you have met my brother… Monsieur Lefevre. Let me say, he has told me many intriguing stories since his retirement; ones whose most interesting scandals have walked by this very bench."

_Scandals? _I moved back to sit on the bench and leaned toward him.

"Tell me what you have seen."

"I saw a lady in a dress, her face partly covered by a netted hat, though it blew to the side for a moment and a face was revealed with as much beauty as I had remembered seeing when visiting the Opera Populaire after my brother's retirement. I saw a man in evening attire beneath a cloak, avoiding contact with anyone and everyone, one side of his face glinting slightly when he turned at _just_ the right angle. Now, I see you." He leaned forward at this, his voice alive and grandiose as if telling a compelling story. In fact, the mysterious tone of it reminded me very much of the way Christine's father would sound when he told us dark tales at the little house by the sea, the tang of the ocean air the same taste on my tongue as here and the moon out and just as bright. Though this story I would very much like to escape from.

"What do you— you mean to tell me that you saw Christine Daae? Are you certain it was her?"

"Quite certain, Vicomte." A look at my face turned his eyes to a more serious squint. "She is quite well, especially considering the circumstances."

"The circumstances… I do not understand, Monsieur." How would he know anything?

"I am old, but capable of knowing a dire situation from an innocent one. Why else would the famed Phantom, who my brother so peculiarly described, have left his hidden cellars? What else could have brought either of you to the ports of Cherbourg alone, or bring Miss Daae to the exact same place with the company of foreign men ushering her onto a ship? I am observant."

_Foreigners? _

"Though, at the time I only thought it to be a curious way of an actress, escaping life onstage to see the world. Once her suitor and the Opera Ghost made their way through these crowds, I feared what I had previously found cleanhanded was nothing of the sort. I will send your letter and tell no one of it."

My mind had begun racing long ago, any and all of this man's words missing my ears. She had been here… and then had left the country only minutes before we arrived.

I thanked the man again, inexplicably trusting that he would keep the secret. On boneless legs I stood having heard the impatient horn of the ship. Its exterior loomed like a sea monster in the darkness.

"Raoul!"

Turning, I saw Nadir stride towards me, his astrakhan cap slightly askew and an annoyed look pulling at his brow.

"There you are." He glanced intently at the man on the bench for a few seconds before turning back to me. "Come on."

**Erik **

**.**

**.**

Retreating into the shadows, as I was inclined to already do, I let my ears pull out what they wanted to hear like one might do when focusing on the melody of a certain instrument while an entire orchestra is playing. Most of these people had been on Christine's train; the station was a mere walking distance away from the ports. They may know something— may be useful for anything other than providing an annoying, far from melodic, buzz in my ear. There was talk of the current politics in America, senseless banter between husband and wife, high-pitched bursts of laughter from running children, arguments over what to see first, and then—

A man appearing around my age with hair of a dark gold and a wide-brimmed hat strode with another man in a blue-lapelled coat, stopping very close to where I stood, directly by my ear. My body was turned away towards the sparsely populated streets behind the cobbled landing, but I angled myself in a way that kept me privy to every conversation.

"John, you speak as if I were a raving lunatic!" The one in the hat spoke boisterously with an English accent.

The man, John, laughed as if it were quite common to be called by such names, "_You speak _as if you are in love and you did not even fully see her! The train was dark and there was netting covering one-third of her face. You are infatuated with a figure."

"It was a fine figure," the other dripped in a low voice, his words sounding carnal. My hand clenched at a wooden post by my waist, the rigged edge digging into hastily possessive fingers.

John chuckled again, "Oh _Mr. Hammerstein_, you know I only mean to look out for you. Did you not say she was with three other men?"

"Do not call me by that horrid name! You've known me long enough to cease associating my behavior with that of my father."

"That may mostly be true Marcus, though you _do _both have a fatal attraction to the things you cannot have."

Marcus replied with a sudden seriousness, his words finally entering my ears without stringing along thoughts on how pleasant the experience to kill him would be. "That _is_ the thing. It was all so strange. She motioned for me to be silent after catching my eye, acting very secretive, and then nodded to the man beside her. Do you think it was a jealous husband? She tried to write something on the window's frost— it could have been her name! God, I will never know her name."

"Even on the dim train I could see pearl white skin. The men with her, though dressed in normal attire, were most definitely foreign. _Romani,_" the man named John gave an atrocious roll of his tongue in attempting an accent. "With a company that strange, I dare say you avoided a sticky predicament by letting her slip into the crowd."

"France is a strange place," Marcus defensively returned, "we were warned of the difference in culture before our time here. That did not change the way she smiled at me, a _true _gentleman. Surely it's in her nature to know _that_ is what she wants. " The ridge dug further still beneath my fingertips, my teeth clenching to the point of pain.

"I swear your whims change with the seasons. What happened to Isabelle, or even Mara?"

The annoying back-and-forth of friends returned and filled my brain with mud. I tuned it out, sending their voices underwater while striding away to search for Nadir, the new slip of information jostling around in my brain.

There were three men with her. _Gypsies_. That entirely explained the carnival invitation.

A dead weight dropped in my chest.

Threats, sneers, rusted bars, rotten bread thrown at my feet, the putrid sent of the dirt burlap mask as it rubbed roughly against the face they would scrape and burn… I grabbed my mask with a heavy hand, as if worried it would tear off of my face regardless of the paste that fastened it, and walked as if fire licked at my heels.

They had shown no mercy. Christine… what will they do to her?

A horn of a steamship soon approaching began to ease the lead of fear in my veins and the utter impatience that had spread like a ripple of disturbed water ever since I had smelled the chloroform in the air up until now, when it had just minutes ago spiraled out of control at the sight of Christine floating away while I was strapped to the ground to wait for another ship.

A harsh laugh broke from my throat at my undue reaction to the knowledge of who took her. It was nothing that I did not already suspect, no startling revelation.

Did I not know it was gypsies from the moment my eyes saw a carnival tent on that damned piece of paper?

Did I not know she was in danger regardless of what criminal had ambushed her in my halls?

_My _halls.

The ones that only expect one set of steps.

The ones that had felt more company on one forsaken night than ever before.

_The stomps of gendarmes, the march of searching mobs, frantic Raoul and Christine, the lonely steps of Christine returning to shock the echoing halls to silence, my senseless wander while the one I loved with every inch of my being lay asleep, her footfalls once again in search of I who had yet to return, and the filthy tread of gypsies armed for abduction… _

The piece of my past that still haunted my dreams had returned to again rip away what little left I had.

Yes, I knew it was gypsies. I had always known. It had been placed in the back of my mind, subconsciously fueling every jerky movement and flashback memory, the blaze of malice felt towards the shadow on deck with Christine.

It all clicked, beckoning forward logic that had escaped my bustling mind like a book replacing the stolen pages that had led up to its most shocking dip in plot.

Someone at the opera house had been watching and plotting, learning how to navigate the corridors, waiting for the opportune moment. I, the bloody _phantom of the opera_, had been haunted. Impossible, though my blind eyes bent on vengeance in the most maddened form had failed to see who must have been right in plain sight. Romani had infiltrated my refuge against the cruel world that their own treatment had fashioned with each lash and rip of my mask, stealing the one who spurred an emotion that had warmed my caged heart to the point of realizing the wrongness of the monster that had taken over my mind… an emotion I once thought I would never experience.

Irony painted itself onto each thought as another realization dawned like a stab to the stomach.

Children seem to adopt the ways of their parents inevitably, just from living with them.

Growing up with gypsies had entirely affected me the same way—

Their stealing of Christine with drugs did not differ all too much from when I had entranced her with my singing that first night at the mirror, her willingness tampered to my liking with the way I pushed my voice into her soul.

They took away her choice, forcing her to leave France with them, leave all she loved.

I had planned to strip her of her choice, satisfying only myself by taking her below and away from sunlight, forcing her to leave her precious fiancé, her friends...

My hand clenched itself into the back of my hair, my eyes blurred by hot, vicious tears.

The innocent boy that had wandered into a traveling gypsy camp had died a cruel death and been replaced with a ghost branded with their ways so irrevocably that they became an entwined part of him, influencing and deadly.

I was no better than those soulless creatures.

It was all I had ever known. The only lesson that my mother could ever muster to teach me was that my face was a cursed weapon, one that could never be loved. _She, _the one person who should have loved me, _despised me._

The docks were far away now along with the chatter of voices, a dirt road leading my leaden steps to a brick wall cloaked in the dark shadows of trees—the side of the first shop in town nearest the port. I leaned my back against its rough surface, unsure when this destination became my goal. Submerged in my musings, I had followed blindly.

_A rat scurrying to darkness._

I closed my eyes and let my weight lean completely against the wall, breathing out a cold and bitter burst of air between my lips.

_Angel of Music, you deceived me. I gave you my mind blindly._

I doubled over and grabbed my knees, finding the breaths harder to push out, harder to take in.

All of this had to be fixed. If my complete immersion into the rescue was not set in stone before, it was now marbled over in impenetrable gold. This was now not only a journey across the sea to save my Angel of Music, but a journey to save myself.

With a couple more slow breaths, I stretched to my full height, a comforting buzz circling each muscle. A horn sounded again in the distance.

The time had arrived.

**Raoul**

**.**

**.**

Nadir walked beside me as we breached into the crowd's heart, talking while his eyes searched for Erik. A landing stage had been slid from the ship, a steady trickle of people boarding onto it.

"Don't think I did not see you speaking to that man. Might it have anything to do with the francs missing from the bag?" He held up the leather luggage, meeting my eyes with a pointed glare.

"I would not risk bringing attention to ourselves. The money was to bribe, though I apologize for obtaining it in such a shifty fashion. The man let me use his parchment to write a letter to my family in order to diffuse whatever search party would soon ensue my absence in Paris. I would not do anything to sabotage our chances for reaching Christine." He was silent so I continued. "You needn't tell Erik—"

"You needn't tell me what?"

At the frighteningly sudden sound of his voice I froze, turning to look up into a pair of unblinking cold blue eyes made even more piercing by the shadows that darkened his face from his hat. He slowly tilted his head to the side, an unspoken threat in the way one corner of his mouth pulled up.

In such close proximity to his lethal stare and tall stature, I hastily stepped back to prevent my crash to the gravel from leaning back so far. His smirk only widened.

I looked to Nadir and opened my mouth to speak but, upon turning back to voice the words, the phantom was already gone. His silhouette was outlined by the moon as he walked towards the steamship, Nadir in a natural tow. I stood, baffled as to what just occurred, and then followed onto the ship that would soon leave me trapped with the man who had tried to murder me for the long length of time stretching between France and America.

**Christine**

**.**

**.**

Being a prisoner cruelly kept in a holding cell was a predicament I would rather endure than this, living in the public while invisible chains bound my legs and a cloth made of air prevented me from speaking. Faces passed by on the ship, immersing me in their kind smiles and compassionate eyes until I felt I was drowning. To brush by hundreds that could help you was torture, the shadows always melded with my own, squashing any opportunity from arising where I could even attempt to speak to another human being with anything other than a courtesy. My prison was a ship where I could roam where I pleased, but never unaccompanied. I suppose whatever unspoken rule of conduct for captivity was still being followed. It was felt all around me, their company closing me in like the protocol of bars.

Clocks, calendars, and ample conversation kept me in the know of the time and date. It was nine in the evening on February 21st and I had been aboard the ship for two full days. Given that the premiere of _Don Juan_ was performed on the 18th, it was a minor comfort to know that I did not lose any days while unconscious after first being taken that morning after.

If the exterior of the ship had instilled a sense of wonderment, the inside was a complete fantasy. The deep mahogany walls of the saloon, intricately carved, were disrupted in their reach up to a domed ceiling only to carve way for the wrap-around hallway that led to the upper cabins. Rich furniture and small tables were arranged in a way to promote social gatherings, while a grand marble staircase led up to the first-cabin rooms. Above still, on the upper deck were smoke-rooms and gambling rooms, though those I only smelled from the men walking out of them with their blustering coughs from the cigars. Through an arched doorway cut from a wall of the saloon and down a hall were a library and a music room. Stewards from the second-cabin served as waiters as well as musicians, entertaining passengers with violins and the piano that could be heard from the saloon, the heart of the ship, as well as the dining room. Upon first hearing the music, right after being pulled inside and away from the port where Erik stood, my heart had wrenched and it was all I could do not to break. Now, I had grown used to the continuous music and let the melancholy of the violins leak into me with a dull ache.

All of the sights in the ship, decorated with the ladies and gentlemen, families, and swooshing colors under the glow of lamp lights, were only seen walking by. Selina, the gypsy girl, seemed to be responsible for me. She was with me wherever I went. It made sense; the first-cabin arrangements were a luxury and the men wanted to drink it all in. Whoever was funding this abduction spared no expense.

I gave a small laugh. What a luxurious abduction it was.

Besnik, Yoska, and Nicolae would disappear in the late afternoon, leaving to smoke and gamble the night away, and issue Selina in their place to watch me. The bars of the prison had to always stay implemented. So, after the three would leave, she would walk with me, watching me with curious eyes while I wandered around and through the rooms, peering into every nook and cranny. The grandiose velvet of the chaise lounges and pillows grazed my fingers while no leather book cover was left untouched. I was in a strange, beautiful prison.

The music room… I refused to go in there, pretending the wall of the narrow corridor never stopped for an archway, that I never saw the organ inhabiting one wall.

Though, as fate would have it, mine and Selina's cabin happened to be right above that music room, intervals of melodies played on the organs keys by those still awake to drift into my ears no matter how hard I pressed my head into the pillow.

Over the past two days, Selina had lost much of her cold shoulder obedience, her submissive fear when around me. She was afraid of the three men, that much was certain, but at night she walk just a little bit taller. We were not friends, no. She also had no intentions on helping me escape. But, there was something in her eyes that made me feel just a little less alone.

"Can we walk on the deck again?"

Selina regarded me with a careful look before nodding and leading me onto the top deck where the wind howled. Most everyone was in the saloon, sleeping, or still eating if they were second-cabin passengers. But, I knew the musicians always played at night on this deck.

The air cut through to my skin like cold knives, though I remained at the railing, torturing myself with the sweet sounds of violins as I closed my eyes and listened to the music mixing with the rush of waves crashing against the side of the ship. I leaned my face in the air for a moment until frantic steps coming towards me broke the placidity. Selina's face was contorted in fear and I realized how I must have looked, leaning over the railing where, if I had kept going, I would've fallen to an icy death.

"Selina, I wasn't—"

"You are my responsibility. What happens to you will happen to me. _Please_…" Her emerald eyes spoke more than her words did. They would kill her if I died— if I escaped. It would be on her. As if for emphasis, the ship leaned heavily to the side, my push against the railing the only component in keeping me upright.

I stepped back quickly once the ship had righted itself, shivering from the cold, and nodded. The strain visibly drifted from her expression and she walked with me back to the warmth of the ship, putting a slim hand to the doorway before whispering.

"I am sorry they are doing this to you."

….

Besnik and Nicolae came stumbling up the stairs from the saloon, inebriated and laughing throaty laughs. A little boy had stopped Selina and, with the boldness signature to everyone of that age, tugged on her skirts and asked her why she wore them. A smirk had twitched on her cheek as she bent down to reply and I took the opportunity to creep closer to where my captors began to walk, hoping to catch anything from their loose lips.

"To those at the camp who doubted us…" Besnik growled an expletive before clapping Nicolae on the back, laughing at his own near-fall on the rug. "We have that repulsive phantom in pursuit, _and_ the privileged brat of a Vicomte." He paused. "This deserves celebration."

My heart began to race, pounding against my chest, and I gripped the banister for support.

Nicolae scowled, his words slurring, "We have hadenough to drinkfor tonight." But, Besnik smiled a sickening sneer and replied, "Selina could prolong the fun." Both men roared, Nicolae moving his hands in the air as if pretending he were feeling a woman's curves.

They drew closer still and I stepped away and nearer to Selina who I watched end the conversation with the little boy as his mother came over with a disapproving glare, grabbed his hand, and walked away. She turned to me, her eyes wounded and I felt revulsion make my head go weak.

Where the men were soulless and cold, she was warm. I had felt it the first moment I met her in the house when she had assured me that no one would come in to harm me as I dressed. She did not deserve their treatment. No matter what role she played in keeping me from freedom, she did not do it willingly. That small decency made her much more than those men would ever be.

My heart still raced beneath the disgust and fear of what was awaiting Selina, bringing above those thoughts the echoes of all I had heard. I had known Erik was coming.

But, Raoul as well…

.

.

**Reviews would be much appreciated! Criticize, commend, say hi... Give me some feedback or ideas, let me know if you liked a certain part, really anything. **


End file.
